In Another Life V
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Suggested by Arlene and MinaHarkerBlack, who asked me to do more with Jeannie Napier, yet another alternate universe story where a young Harleen Quinzel meets the gangster Jack Napier, changing both of their lives forever. Thanks for suggesting, and enjoy! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life V**

It had been a long night. And it was far from over, thought Jack Napier, as he sat in the car, window rolled down and smoking casually on a cigarette as his eyes fixed on the doors to the Gotham Mint. Any moment now, Buzz Bronski and Chuckie Sol were gonna come racing outta there with three million dollars in cash, and it was Jack's job to make sure they got away with it. He kept his eyes peeled on the doors, inhaling from his cigarette, trying to keep his mind on the job at hand. But his mind had always had a tendency to wander, and at this particular moment, it had wandered back to the scene earlier that evening in his apartment. The scene where his wife was yelling at him.

"You're a useless clown, Jack Napier!" she had screamed, picking up the empty liquor bottle and throwing it at him. It had shattered on the wall next to his head. "You'll never amount to anything! You don't take anything seriously, and you don't take me seriously!"

"I _do _take you seriously, Jeannie!" he had screamed back, trying to calm her. "That's why I'm going out tonight! The boys said we're gonna bag at least three million, and I'm gonna get a cut of that! We're gonna be rich! I'll be able to buy you all the shoes and diamonds you want…"

"I don't believe you, Jack!" she screamed. "You're always making excuses to not spend any time with me! You're off at the track, or on a job, or God knows where! It's like you don't love me anymore!"

"I do, baby, you know I do!" he had cried, trying to embrace her, but she slapped him hard, shoving him away.

"I deserve so much better!" she hissed. "So much better than some second rate gangster, some goddamn clown! I coulda been the wife of a mob boss, Jack! And instead I'm stuck with the likes of you! A failure, a waste of space, a man who don't appreciate a single thing I do for him…"

"I don't know what else I can do to show that I appreciate you!" he cried. "I buy you presents whenever I've got the money, and I take you out to nice places when I can afford it! But I can't stay cooped up in this apartment all the time, Jeannie! I'd go crazy!"

"So you go and blow what little money we got at the bars and the track?!" she shrieked.

"Jeannie, the only reason I got this job with Sal Valestra tonight is because I got in his good books," retorted Jack. "If I do this for him, he might take me on as a permanent hitman, and then we've got it made, baby. He's one of the biggest mob bosses in Gotham, and the richest. But I couldn't have ever got a shot like this without schmoozing some, and spending time with the guys! I'm doing this for us!"

"You're doing this for you, Jack Napier, as usual," she muttered, grabbing a near empty liquor bottle and drinking directly from it. "You're a selfish, greedy, mean excuse for a man, and I curse the day I married you!"

"Jeannie, maybe if you just stopped drinking we could discuss this rationally…" began Jack.

"Don't you dare criticize me!" she shrieked. "How dare you tell me what to do and what not to do?! I'll drink if I wanna, Jack! It's the only way I can stand living with you!"

She finished the bottle and threw it at his head again. He ducked, and it hit the wall again. "Just get outta here!" she shrieked. "Just go! You don't love me! You don't love anyone but yourself!"

"I'll…I'll bring you back something nice with the money I get, Jeannie," he muttered, leaving the apartment and shutting the door behind him.

Jack's thoughts returned to the present, as he puffed on his cigarette again. Jeannie was right – their life was his fault. They had married when they were both too young for it, about five years ago. And since then Jack had struggled every day to support his young wife in the style to which she was accustomed. Unfortunately, Jeannie Moore had been the daughter of one of the wealthiest drug smugglers in Gotham, and the style to which she was accustomed was well out of financial reach for all but the most successful of criminals.

But Jack had tried. He had the skills, and the makings of a good criminal. He was an excellent shot, and had worked as a freelance hitman ever since they were married. Of course that meant that at times money was very tight, but Jeannie didn't seem to understand that. She continued to spend as if they were rich, and then got angry when they had difficulty affording things like food and rent. And she had begun to drink heavily, which had turned into a huge problem. Jack's problem, he thought – he had driven her to it, after all. He should have done better. He should be running his own gang now, not begging for work from the likes of Sal Valestra. Jack had exceptional talent, but he hadn't made the most of it. And he was angry at himself for that. Not at Jeannie – it wasn't her fault. And he did love her. The thought that a beautiful girl like her had even considered throwing in her lot with a penniless, up and coming criminal was incredibly flattering to him. And that flattery had blinded him to any defects Jeannie might have. She had heard that Jack Napier was a man with great promise, and since he was far better looking than most of her suitors, marrying him seemed like an obvious choice. But after five years, when Jack's promise still hadn't paid off, she was a little upset at thinking that maybe she had made a poor choice, and blamed Jack for it. She was never in the wrong, in his eyes. He worshipped the ground she walked on. And while perhaps objectively, Jeannie came across as a bit of a spoiled, self-righteous, hypocritical brat, Jack couldn't see it. People never could, when they were in love.

He was startled out of all thoughts of Jeannie as an alarm suddenly blared through the silent night, echoing loudly around the empty parking lot. Jack's eyes snapped back to the doors, which were thrown open a moment later, and two figures came pelting out toward the car, carrying huge sacks over their shoulders, followed by a third man, clearly a security guard, who was shooting at them. Jack pulled out his gun, aimed, and shot the guard in the face.

"Drive, Jack!" shouted Buzz Bronski, as he and Chuckie Sol leapt into the backseat. "Goddamn security guard surprised us and set off the alarm!"

"How much did you get?" demanded Jack, reversing the car and speeding off into the streets of Gotham.

"I dunno exactly – probably about two million," said Chuckie, looking through the sacks of money. "It's all in thousands."

"Ain't too bad a loss," said Jack, nodding. "What kinda cut you think we're gonna get?"

"Up to the boss," replied Buzz. "As long as they don't catch us, I don't think he'll be too upset about the loss."

"Don't worry, Buzz," said Jack, grinning. "I can do my job."

And Jack wasn't lying. They returned to Sal Valestra's hideout having successfully eluded the police. "Great job, Jack," said Sal, nodding as he perused the money on the table in front of him. "Since you're the only one who did his job properly, you're gonna get a bigger cut. Here's five hundred thousand," he said, tossing a bag of cash at Jack.

"Oh…thank you, sir," stammered Jack, taking the bag gratefully. He couldn't wait to tell Jeannie that they were now the owners of half a million dollars in cash.

"The rest of you get two-hundred fifty thousand each," said Sal, tossing similar sacks at Chuckie and Buzz. "And a warning. Don't screw up again, or you don't work for me no more. You got it?"

"Yes, boss," they both muttered in unison.

"And Jack, I'm pleased to offer you a permanent place in my gang," said Sal, turning to smile at Jack. "You get one sixth of every take - more or less depending on your actions. You want the job?"

"Yes…sir!" stammered Jack, gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I promise I'll be a credit to the gang."

"You will," agreed Sal, laughing slightly. "Or you ain't gonna last."

He clapped him on the back. "Let's go celebrate this joyous news with a few stiff drinks, Jack. Coming, boys?"

Jack knew he should probably have immediately gone home to Jeannie, and presented her with the money. But he also didn't want to offend his new boss right off the bat, so he found himself sitting with Sal, Buzz, and Chuckie in a dirty dive of a bar somewhere in Gotham's lower East Side. He was laughing and making conversation with his new colleagues, thinking that his luck had finally changed for the better, and he was finally gonna fulfill his criminal potential at last.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" said a voice.

Jack turned to see the waitress standing by their table, and immediately did a double take. He had never expected to see anyone so young, beautiful, or innocent-looking working in a filthy place like this. The girl was slim and pretty, with wide blue eyes and long blonde hair, done up in pigtails. She was dressed modestly, but nicely, and her smile, although it looked a little forced around these men, was very pretty indeed.

The rest of the gang were clearly similarly struck by her, and Sal gave a low whistle. "I'll say, sweetheart," he purred. "Why doncha come and sit with us awhile?"

"Oh…I…uh…that'd be…nice," stammered the waitress, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear nervously. "But I do have a lotta work to do, and I don't think my boss would like it."

"Aw, c'mon, baby," murmured Sal, pulling out a five-hundred dollar bill. "I'll tip you real nice. And after a few drinks, maybe you'll let me take you home for a few drinks at my place, huh?"

"Erm…no, thanks," stammered the waitress, looking very nervous now. "I really don't think…that would be appropriate. But thanks for the offer."

Sal shrugged. "Your loss, sweetheart," he said, pocketing the bill. "Bring four beers for me and my associates here. And maybe you can still earn a little of that tip money anyway," he growled, snaking an arm around her waist and pinching her bottom.

The waitress pulled away. "Four beers…coming right up," she said, hurrying back to the bar.

Sal laughed. "Dumb little blonde," he muttered. "Speaking of which, how's your wife, Jack?"

"Oh…she's…uh…" stammered Jack, staring after the waitress. He tore his eyes away from her as she disappeared behind the bar. "She's…uh…fine, Sal."

"You're a lucky guy, Jack, if you don't mind me saying so," said Sal, grinning. "To be able to do Jeannie Moore every night…I mean, most guys would kill for that kinda opportunity. I don't mind telling you, I fantasize about her sometimes. Tell me the truth – what's she into exactly? She likes it rough, don't she? Whips, chains, that kinda thing?"

"Uh…we don't really…I mean…" stammered Jack, but the waitress reappeared at that moment, putting down the bottles of beer and leaving without another word. She muttered something to the man behind the bar about a smoking break, and then went out the back door.

"I…uh…I'm just gonna go out for a smoke," said Jack, standing up suddenly. "Be right back."

He headed out the back door after the waitress. It led onto a small, dirty alley, and Jack saw her curled up by the door, knees pulled up to her chest, and crying softly.

Jack cleared his throat to let her know he was there. "Oh…sorry!" she stammered, looking up at him with tear-stained eyes. "I'm sorry, I…" she stammered, climbing to her feet.

"You need a cigarette?" he asked, holding out his case to her. "I heard you say you were going on a smoking break…"

"Uh…no – I don't smoke, actually," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "I just say that whenever I need some alone time. It's been…kinda a rough day."

"Tell me about it," he muttered, putting the cigarette to his lips and lighting it. "You don't mind if I…" he said, gesturing to it.

"No, go ahead," she said, wrapping her arms around her body.

"You cold?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted. "But it's better than being cooped up in there. It's…suffocating. I hate it."

Jack removed his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Why do you work there if you hate it?" he asked, puffing on his cigarette.

She shrugged. "I don't have a choice. I gotta pay for med school somehow, and the scholarships only cover so much. But a waitress job ain't the highest paying job out there. And sometimes it seems like it's more trouble than it's worth. Everyone treats you like crap," she said, wiping her eyes again.

"Everyone treats you like crap no matter what your job is," muttered Jack. "You gotta learn to ignore them. Just believe in yourself. In your own abilities."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You gonna be a doctor, then?" he asked.

She nodded. "A psychiatrist, I hope. It's hard work, but I don't mind that. It's just the money. My folks can't help me out or anything. I only got myself to rely on."

"Your folks back in Brooklyn?" he asked. She looked at him, shocked. "You got an accent," he explained.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I've noticed, actually. I'm trying to get rid of it."

"Don't," he said. "It's nice. I like it. And you should never forget where you're from, even if you end up a million miles away from it. Never forget your roots."

She was silent. "You're a long way from home," he murmured.

"Yeah," she whispered, tears filling her eyes again. "I guess I am."

Tears began falling down her cheeks, and Jack was desperate to put a stop to it. He cleared his throat again. "I just wanted to apologize for the guys," he said, nodding toward the door. "They ain't got no manners. You can't treat a woman like that, like a piece of meat with no mind of her own, no self-respect. So I'm sorry about them."

She gave a small smile. "Why do you hang out with them?" she asked. "You seem like a nice guy."

He laughed. "Appearances can be deceiving, kid," he murmured, puffing on his cigarette. "I ain't a nice guy. But they're my colleagues. No matter how I feel about them personally, I gotta put up with them for the job. It's worth it."

"What kinda work do you do?" she asked.

"I'm a freelancer," he replied, truthfully. "I have a unique set of skills which I hire out to the highest bidder. And the man in there who harassed you has just offered me a permanent contract. For a man in my position, job security really means a lot."

"I can imagine," she said, nodding. "I think if I ever get a real job as a psychiatrist, I'll never be unhappy again. But my life at the moment seems to be a bunch of temporary arrangements and uncertainties. It's scary."

He studied her. "How old are ya, kid?" he asked.

"Seventeen," she replied. "I started college a year early, 'cause of my scholarship and all."

"Must be a bright kid," he murmured.

She smiled again. "I…like to think so," she said. "But how bright can I be working in a dump like this?"

"Well, we all gotta do unpleasant things from time to time," he murmured. "That's life. Some people are lucky, some people aren't. But just because you're unlucky don't mean you're stupid. And if you ain't stupid, luck's gonna come your way sooner or later. That's always been my experience anyway."

She smiled again. "I don't care what you say – you're a nice guy," she murmured. "Mr…?"

"Napier. Jack Napier," he said, holding out his hand to her.

"Harleen Quinzel," she murmured, taking it. "But everyone calls me Harley."

"That's a very pretty name," he said. "For a very pretty girl."

She smiled again. "Thank you, Mr. Napier. You've certainly cheered me up anyway."

"Well, that's what I like to do," he said, grinning. "Spread smiles and joy and laughter. My wife says I'm a clown, but she don't…" He trailed off, thinking suddenly of Jeannie. "She don't always mean that in a nice way."

"Well, I like a guy who can make me laugh," she said. "Always have. So thank you, Mr. Napier."

She pressed his hand and then turned to go inside, removing his coat. "I'd better get back to work – Sam will be furious I've taken such a long break. At least if he fires me I'll be outta here forever," she said with a grim smile.

"You'll be outta here forever one day soon," he said, holding open the door for her. "On to a much better life."

Jack returned to where the guys were seated, but kept glancing occasionally at Harley whenever she walked past. When she caught his eye and smiled at him, he felt happier than he had in ages. Rationally, his mind was telling him nothing would ever come of this, that it was a stupid flirtation – he was a married man, with marriage vows, and a young, beautiful, bright girl like her could never be interested in someone like him anyway. But it wasn't the hope of any kind of reward on his part that had motivated his actions. It was how much he enjoyed seeing her smile. It had been a long time since he had made a beautiful girl happy, and he liked it. And he would never see her again after tonight, anyway. He was going to make sure of that.

A few hours later, the group of men left. Harley caught Jack's eye one last time. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and then he shut the door. She went to go clear up the table, and found that a small bag had been left on the seats. She grabbed it, racing out the door after the men, but they had already disappeared. Sighing, she opened the bag, and her eyes nearly popped from her head when she saw that it contained several wads of cash, and a note. She picked this up. It was written on the back of the receipt:

_Harley,_

_Here's fifty thousand dollars – use it to make yourself a better life. I'll be rooting for you all the way._

_Jack_

Tears filled her eyes and she sobbed, looking around in the darkness hopefully. But Jack had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ten Years Later**

"I'd just like you to relax, Mr. Dent," said Dr. Harleen Quinzel, studying the District Attorney carefully behind her round glasses. "Try to clear your mind of all thoughts."

"Not easy during campaign season, Doc!" laughed Harvey Dent, sitting on the therapy couch opposite her and smiling. "But I'll do my best. I don't believe in this psychiatric mumbo jumbo though, you understand."

"I don't believe in mumbo jumbo either, Mr. Dent," retorted Harley, looking down at her notes. "But the only way I can help you is if I peel away this incredibly charming facade that Harvey Dent puts up, and confront the personality within, this…Big Bad Harv, do you call him?"

"The ladies call him that," he replied, grinning. "I'm sure you can guess why."

Harley sighed heavily. "You married, Doc?" he asked. "Or seeing anyone at the moment?"

"I don't think that's really any of your business, Mr. Dent," retorted Harley.

He shrugged. "I was just asking. No need to be so defensive. Can't help but notice you don't have a wedding ring, though."

Harley sighed again, removing her glasses. "I'm twenty-seven, Mr. Dent. Should I be married?"

"I just thought somebody might have snapped up an attractive girl like you," he said, shrugging.

"Well, nobody has," she retorted, replacing her glasses. "My work keeps me very busy."

"Well, so does mine, but there's always time for a little fun!" chuckled Dent. "I'm not really seeing anyone at the moment, if you'd be interested…"

"Not_ really_ seeing anyone?" repeated Harley. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged again. "It means I'm not committed to any single woman at the present time."

"Monogamy isn't an essential part of your relationships?" asked Harley, sarcastically. "I'm starting to see why you blame things on Big Bad Harv."

Dent's eyes narrowed. "Look, I may joke, but this…other personality of mine is a serious problem," he muttered. "It's starting to affect my campaign. Every time I get stressed out, which is pretty frequently at the moment, this…other personality takes over. I've done things…I'm not proud of. I attacked a suspect in court. I nearly punched my best friend. I'm…scared of what I might do next."

Harley smiled slightly. "In that case, I recommend we don't mix business and pleasure, Mr. Dent," she said. "If I'm your doctor, I need your full confidence, which I doubt you give to any woman you're interested in being in a relationship with. So let's keep our relationship strictly professional."

He snorted. "Your loss."

"Would you like to tell me when this other personality first manifested itself?" asked Harley, opening her notebook.

He shrugged again. "When I was a kid sometime. Probably about eight or nine. My parents…were very demanding people, pushing me to do well and succeed, even from an early age. And one day I…got in a fight. This kid, school bully type, was calling me names – spoiled, rich little lawyer's boy, that kinda thing, y'know. I got angry. So I beat the crap outta him. My parents…weren't pleased. They insisted they hadn't raised their only son to act like a common punk. They said it was really important that…I didn't lash out like that again. So I didn't. Whenever I felt anger, I would repress it. But I have…a lotta anger. And over the years, all the stuff I've repressed seems to have shaped itself into some kinda personality. I named him Big Bad Harv, for lack of a better description."

"And he presumably threatens to take over whenever you find yourself in a tense or stressful situation?" asked Harley, scribbling down some notes.

"Yeah. He always there, though…I mean, I can always feel him inside me. Even now," he said, frowning slightly. "He...struggles against me to be free. Whispers things to me, things…I gotta ignore," he said, shaking his head suddenly.

"You hear voices?" asked Harley.

"I hear…one voice," he admitted. "His voice. It's deep and throaty and rough and…unpleasant."

Harley nodded, writing down _Signs of mild schizophrenia. _"I mean, you can prescribe pills for this kinda crap, right?" asked Dent. "Stuff I can take so I can keep working on my campaign…"

"Mr. Dent, don't you think your health is a little more important than your re-election campaign?" asked Harley.

"Nothing's more important than my re-election campaign, Doc," said Dent, firmly. "Nothing. I've been DA of this city for two years, and I'm still no closer to achieving my goal of taking down the big gangs here in Gotham. Although I am close to taking down Sal Valestra," he added, smugly. "We just busted a couple guys of his the other week – they're awaiting their trial today…"

A knock came on the door to Harley's office. "Uh…sorry to disturb you, Mr. Dent, but this just came from the courthouse," said Dent's assistant, handing him a folded piece of paper. "They've had to throw out the case against the Valestra gang members."

"What?" snapped Dent, grabbing the letter away and studying it. "Why?!"

"A technicality," said the assistant. "Apparently the police officer who arrested 'em couldn't testify that he read 'em their rights in full. The judge had no choice but to let 'em go."

"Rights?!" repeated Dent, his voice growing more hysterical, and deeper. "They know their rights! They been in and outta prison their whole lives!"

Without warning, he grabbed a lamp by his chair and smashed it on the ground. "Scum like that don't deserve to have rights!" he roared, in a deep, throaty voice that was nothing at all like the district attorney's regular one. "I shoulda beat 'em to a bloody pulp when I got the chance! Made 'em tell me where Valestra's hiding out, and then make 'em beg me to stop beating 'em! And when I get my hands on that judge, I'm gonna keep slamming his face into the ground until he tells me how much Valestra paid him to let his guys off the hook! That useless son of a bitch!"

He seized the table in front of him suddenly and threw it through the window. Harley and the assistant could only watch in shock, scared to interfere or draw attention to themselves. It truly seemed like the district attorney was a completely different man – a psychotic, insane monster.

He stared at the window, breathing heavily for a few moments. And then a low moan escaped his lips as he put a shaking hand to his forehead. He turned around to face Harley, and she saw sweat and tears pouring down his face.

"I…I'm sorry, Doc," he stammered. "I've…never destroyed other people's property before. Of course I'll pay for all the damage…"

"Don't worry about that right now," said Harley, going over to him and helping him to sit down again. "Are you ok?"

"I…uh…" he gasped, loosening his tie. "I just need a glass of water, please."

"I'll be right back," said the assistant, hurrying from the office.

Dent gave a low chuckle. "So…now you know what you're dealing with, Doc," he muttered. "Still wanna take on the challenge?"

"Of course," she said, quietly. "You clearly need help."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I've…seen a lot of shrinks…since this kinda stuff started happening," he murmured. "None of them could help me. It's like I'm…being taken over by someone else. Someone who just wants to destroy me and everything I care about."

"Mr. Dent, do you really think you should be in such a demanding and high profile career when you're having these kinds of problems?" asked Harley, gently. "Maybe if you just sat this election out, and then ran again next time when you're feeling better. In the meantime, you could maybe check yourself into a psychiatric ward for some intensive counseling…"

"And what if I don't feel better then?" he demanded. "I'm not going to spend my life cooped up in some nuthouse!"

"I just think a period of supervised treatment might be advisable," murmured Harley.

"And you think I'd ever get any votes again after that?" demanded Dent. "When the public hears I've been in the looney bin?! Elections don't work that way, Doc! Image is everything! Everything!"

He buried his face in his hands. "And I can't have the image of a psychotic freak," he murmured. "I just can't. Even if that's what I am."

"I find labels of that kind very unhelpful, Mr. Dent," murmured Harley. "What you are is a sick man. And like all sick people, you need rest and relaxation in order to get better."

Dent drew in a deep breath. "I will…think about some time in treatment," he muttered. "After the election."

Harley nodded. "Until then, if you insist on continuing with your current lifestyle, I recommend that we see each other every day. This is a very severe problem, Mr. Dent. It's going to require a lot of effort to beat it."

"Don't worry about me, Doc," said Dent, nodding. "I'm not afraid of hard work. Trust me."

The assistant returned with the glass of water, which Dent downed eagerly. "Please send the bill for the damage to my office," he said, standing up. "And…uh…same time tomorrow?"

Harley nodded. "I'll see you then, Mr. Dent."

He nodded and left with his assistant. Harley sighed, closing her notebook and Dent's file, and replacing it in the cabinet. She removed her glasses again, rubbing her eyes, as she went to the window to assess the damage. Thankfully the day was a dry and fairly mild one. Harley looked out over the city, listening to the sounds of traffic and sirens, the hustle and bustle of a big city. She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath of fresh air and thinking. Dent was going to be a challenge, but she didn't mind that. And while she had been shocked by his actions, it wasn't that which was troubling her thoughts now. It was what he had said earlier. _Can't help but notice you don't have a wedding ring_…_I just thought somebody might have snapped up an attractive girl like you._

She opened her eyes again, staring at her reflection in the broken glass of the window. The truth was, she didn't think of herself as very pretty, which knocked her confidence a lot whenever she tried to date. No matter what men told her, she couldn't shake her childhood insecurities, where she had been a pale, skinny girl with glasses, which boys and girls alike used to make fun of. And while she had always hoped to find a nice man and a happy relationship, it turned out that finding one was a lot harder than hoping for one, and she had gradually given up. True, she was young still, she told herself, but at twenty-seven, a lot of her school friends were already married or having kids. And here she was, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, professionally successful psychiatrist, yet completely and utterly alone.

The problem was obviously with her, she reasoned. After all, there were a lot of nice guys out there. Well, there was at least one…

She went over to her desk and opened a drawer, taking out a hand-written note, faded and pressed over time:

_Harley,_

_Here's fifty thousand dollars – use it to make yourself a better life. I'll be rooting for you all the way._

_Jack_

Harley smiled, remembering the man who had given her the note and the money with which to start her life. She idly wondered where he was now. She had never seen him again since that night, but she had always wanted to. She had wanted to understand why he had done it, and to thank him, of course. He had helped her more than anyone else in her life ever had. But she hadn't found any Jack Napier in the phone book, and she had never had any means of contacting him again. She hoped he was happy, wherever he was, and that he was doing well. Most of all, she hoped he was loved. He certainly deserved to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack Napier knocked gently on the bathroom door. "Jeannie? You wanna come outta there?"

"Screw you, creep!" shrieked Jeannie from inside. Jack sighed, settling himself down beside the door.

"Jeannie, please," he murmured. "Please come out, baby."

"I don't wanna come out!" she shouted. "And it wouldn't matter to you if I did! You don't love me!"

"Baby, you know that's not true," he murmured, leaning his forehead against the door and shutting his eyes. "I do love you, you know that. And I'll do anything to make you happy…"

"There's nothing you can do to make me happy, Jack!" she shrieked. "You just make me miserable year in and year out! And I ask you for one little thing, and you can't even give me that!"

"Jeannie, you know if I could fix this for you, I would," he murmured. "But there's nothing I can do about it, baby…"

"I should never have married you, that's all!" she yelled. "I should have seen from the start that you were a pathetic excuse for a man! I should have known you couldn't do the tiniest, simplest, easiest thing in the world for a man to do, and give me a baby!"

Jeannie started sobbing again. Jack sighed, leaning with his back against the door and staring up at the ceiling. The pregnancy test had obviously been bad news again. Or maybe not such bad news, he thought, as he heard Jeannie sob. They shouldn't bring a child into the middle of all their fights and arguments – that wasn't fair on the kid. If anything, a baby would only aggravate their already strained relationship, not make it better, even though Jeannie thought otherwise. Jeannie thought that all the love and adoration she withheld from her husband could be given unconditionally to her child. She wanted someone to love, and since her husband had permanently screwed up her life, in her eyes, the least he could do was give her someone to really love. And Jeannie was still never wrong, in Jack's eyes.

They had been trying for eight months. In all that time, Jeannie hadn't stopped drinking, saying she would give up the alcohol when she was sure the baby was conceived. Though Jack highly doubted that, seeing as she needed about six glasses of strong liquor just to get through the day. But anytime he suggested to her that it might be a good idea to gradually wean herself off the alcohol, for the sake of their potential child, she would scream and yell at him for daring to criticize her, and trying to tell her what to do. "You're no better, Jack Napier!" she would shriek. "You drink just as much as I do!"

"I…even if that's true, baby, I'm not gonna be the one carrying our child…"

"No, of course not! So you can do whatever you want, as usual, while you stifle me and control me and order me around! I'm sick of being your prisoner, Jack! Your pathetic slave, who does everything for you, while you do nothing in return! You can't even give me a baby!"

Jack knew this wasn't true, but kept silent. It was no good arguing with her when she was drunk, or at any other time. Not that there were many times when she wasn't drunk these days. It had gotten worse with every negative pregnancy test. She blamed him – it was his fault she couldn't get pregnant. The blame was obviously on his side, there was obviously something wrong with him. Jack didn't argue – for all he knew, that could be true. But he couldn't help but think it was a blessing in disguise. However much it upset Jeannie, Jack would have felt guilty bringing a child into their lives. No child deserved to be born to parents who hated each other.

Not that Jack did hate Jeannie, and not that he ever could. He was still as smitten with her as he had been from the day he had met her, and so he put up with her tempers and her criticisms and her fights. But it was pretty obvious that Jeannie hated him, and it hurt to think about that. It hurt to think that his wife loathed him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. He had promised to give up smoking when the kid was conceived, but since it wasn't yet, it didn't seem to matter now. He was just as bad as Jeannie, he reasoned. And he was probably more at fault than she was. He made her miserable. It was his doing, and his alone.

He had thought that after his career with Sal Valestra took off, things would get better between him and Jeannie. But they hadn't. Although Jack made a fairly good living in the Valestra gang, they still struggled to pay bills and rent, since Jeannie would still spend outside their income. And Jack didn't dare criticize her. He wanted his wife to have nice things. He blamed himself for not being successful enough to afford them. And Jeannie constantly pushed him to ask Sal for more money, to do better. "Your problem, Jack," she would say. "Is that everything's a joke to you. So nobody takes you seriously. And that's how you get places in this world. By being serious, and by being taken seriously. You think anybody laughs at Sal Valestra? But they laugh at you. You're not a respected criminal like him. You're nothing but a pathetic clown, Jack Napier."

The telephone rang suddenly, startling Jack out of his thoughts. He rose to go and answer it. "Hello?"

"Jack? It's Sal. I need you down at the warehouse right away. Chuckie and Buzz are back from their little prison visit, and I got a job for you all. Be here in twenty minutes."

"Yes, boss," murmured Jack. He hung up the phone, and returned to the bathroom door.

"Jeannie?" he said, knocking softly on it.

"What?" she snapped.

"I…I gotta go out for work," he murmured. "Sal needs me. Are you gonna be all right on your own?"

"I have to be, don't I?" she snapped. "I always have to be all right on my own. I certainly don't have anyone else to rely on."

Jack wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. "I love you, baby," he murmured, turning to leave her.

She laughed scornfully, and then the bathroom door opened. Jack gazed upon her tear-stained face, makeup smeared down her cheeks, and hatred burning in her eyes. "That a joke?" she muttered. "Because it's not very funny, Jack." She threw the negative pregnancy test down at his feet. "Do better next time," she snapped, slamming the door shut.

"Jack! How's Jeannie?" asked Sal Valestra as Jack entered the warehouse, where Sal, Buzz, and Chuckie were already gathered.

"Oh, she's…uh…fine, Sal," murmured Jack. He always said she was fine.

"Glad to hear it. I'm also glad to hear that a certain judge dismissed the case against these two chowderheads," he muttered, his tone darkening as he turned to face Buzz and Chuckie. "You guys were careless, and you deserved to be arrested. Hell, you deserved to prosecuted, but I don't have time to find new gang members right now, not with Harvey Dent breathing down my neck at every opportunity."

"Sorry, boss," murmured Chuckie.

"It won't happen again," assured Buzz.

"You're damn right it won't," growled Sal. "Next time I'm leaving you to the courts, and the electric chair."

He stood up, heading over to a table full of papers. "Harvey Dent," he muttered, picking up a picture of the district attorney. "He's been asking for trouble for a long time now. And I ain't waiting any longer. We're gonna hit him where it hurts. We're gonna find his weakness, whatever that is. All men have 'em. And Harvey Dent's is gonna destroy him."

"How are we gonna find out what it is, boss?" asked Chuckie.

Sal smoked thoughtfully on a cigarette. "I've had a few guys tailing the DA recently," he murmured. "Every day he goes to see a shrink. Which means he's sick in the head somehow. If the papers found out about that, it'd be the end of Mr. District Attorney's campaign and career. He'd be utterly ruined."

Sal grinned. "I like that better than a quick execution, anyway," he murmured. "Make 'em suffer if you can, boys, that's my motto."

"So how are we gonna find out what's eating Harvey?" asked Buzz.

Sal grinned again. "Simple," he said, puffing on his cigarette. "We kidnap his shrink. We make her talk. We make her tell us every little thing that's wrong with him, and then we give that story to the press. And the best part is, there's no way the whole thing can be connected to us."

"What if the shrink talks?" asked Chuckie.

"She won't be able to, Chuckie, not after we're done with her," murmured Sal.

"You mean after we kidnap her and interrogate her, you want us to…" Buzz trailed off, running a finger across his throat.

"All in good time, boys," murmured Sal. "All in good time."

He threw down a piece of paper in front of them, with an address. "First I want you to bring Dr. Harleen Quinzel to me."

Jack started at the name. "W…what?" he stammered, shocked.

Sal looked up at him. "You acquainted with the good doctor, Jack?" he chuckled.

"N…no, of course not," stammered Jack. But he did recognize her name. It was the name of the pretty waitress he had paid to go to medical school. She had obviously made a success of her life with the money, just as he'd hoped, if she was good enough to be treating the DA. And now he was gonna be instrumental in ruining her life. He wasn't sure he could go through with it. But then again, he wasn't sure he had a choice. Sal didn't take no for an answer. Refusal would mean a bullet to the brain, or more likely some sort of long and lingering death. And at least he might have a chance of looking after her if he went with the guys to kidnap her. And maybe he could figure out a way to save her, in the end.

Sal tossed the address at Jack. "You three do it tonight. Don't fail me."

Jack nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Harleen Quinzel walked home that evening, lost in thought. Her session with Dent had been very interesting today – she had actually got to hold a conversation with his other personality. It had taken a lot of effort – Dent was very reluctant to consciously let his other personality take control. But she had convinced him to relax and lower his defenses, and the moment he did, Big Bad Harv appeared.

"What the hell do you want, Doc?" he had growled, Dent's face twisting into a mask of contempt and fury.

"I just want to talk to you," she murmured. "To try and understand why you're bent on taking over Harvey."

"Easy," growled Harv, his smile cold and cruel. "I want the little wimp out. He's been holding me back for a long time, and I wanna be free, just like anybody else."

"And what would you do with your freedom?" asked Harley.

He grinned. "I would do everything Harvey wants to do, but he's too ashamed to admit. I would fulfill every little greedy and violent desire he has, and I would get results. I would do his job better than the little punk could ever think of doing. The only way those gangs are gonna learn is if we rub 'em out. Permanently."

"Doesn't that make you as bad as them, though?" asked Harley. "Fighting violence with violence?"

Harv grinned. "What do you know about violence?" he growled. "What does an innocent little girl like you know about real violence, and how effective it is? These gangs are bullies. I beat the crap outta a bully once. He didn't bully people again. Problem solved."

"I think the situation is probably a little more complicated than that…" began Harley.

"Nah," Harv interrupted suddenly, shaking his head. "People make everything more complicated than it is, with rules and regulations and shades of grey. But life ain't really like that. Life is black and white. Every decision everyone ever makes only has two options. Do it, or don't do it. That's all. Fifty fifty. Heads or tails."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a coin. "This is life, Doc," he muttered. "Good and evil, right and wrong, black and white. Do it or don't do it. You can decide it all by the flip of a coin. And Harvey and me, we're like a coin. We're in the same body, but we're completely different sides. And here's what I'm gonna do to Harvey," he muttered, pulling out a pocket knife. Harley's hand slid over to the security button, but Harv didn't make a move toward her. He put the coin down on the table in front of him, and then began stabbing the knife into it, carving deep scratches into the metal.

He held up the defaced side, laughing. "He won't be so pretty then, will he?" he murmured, smiling at Harley. "Not after I take control."

"You don't think Harvey is going to fight you?" asked Harley.

Harv grinned. "He can try," he murmured. "But I'm getting stronger. And I enjoy the fight."

When Harvey retook control of himself a few moments later, he certainly did seem weaker. The normally suave DA was pale and sweating and shaking. "I…I don't wanna do that again for a long time," he murmured, burying his face in his hands. "Whenever he takes control…it's getting harder and harder to pull him back."

His eyes fell upon the damaged coin on the table. "Did I…do this?" he stammered, picking it up. Harley nodded. "Why?" he asked.

"He was comparing the coin to you," murmured Harley, writing some notes down. "Two sides of the same coin. And that was your side."

Dent groaned, burying his face in his hands again. "As if every gangster in Gotham isn't out to get me already, my own mind is too!"

"I repeat Mr. Dent – you need rest and relaxation in order to win this fight," said Harley. "You're not doing yourself any favors by working yourself to death. You need all your strength…"

"And I will relax, Doc, after the election is over," he insisted. "It's only a couple more months. What's that really, in the big scheme of things?"

No arguments of Harley's could sway him. She had prescribed him some pills to help him sleep soundly at night, so he could get as much rest as possible. But otherwise she had to trust his own judgment. But the problem was that she didn't. She didn't think Dent fully appreciated the seriousness of his situation. And it worried her that one day he would lose himself to this other personality forever.

She unlocked the door to her apartment and entered the room. And all of her worries for Dent were immediately pushed aside when she was suddenly grabbed, her arms shoved behind her back, and a bag shoved over her head.

She tried to scream, struggling to be free, but the bag muffled her voice, and the grip around her arms was firm. Another pair of hands tightened around her legs, lifting her off her feet. She was carried down the stairs of her apartment and out into a waiting vehicle. All this time she had tried to fight against her attackers and make some noise, but it hadn't done any good. They were stronger than she was, and nobody heard her anyway.

She was thrown into the backseat, and felt someone climb in after her. "Just stay calm," murmured a voice. "Everything's gonna be all right, I promise."

Harley couldn't help but think this was a bizarre thing for a kidnapper to be saying to their victim, but something about his voice was slightly familiar, and reassuring.

She didn't know how long they drove before she felt the car stop, and then she was hauled from the vehicle into a building. The bag was removed from her head at last, and she looked around.

She was in a dark warehouse. A single, overhanging light lit up the face of a man who stared down at her, a man whom she had seen before somewhere. She didn't remember anything about him, except that she wasn't glad to see him again.

"Well, well, well, Dr. Harleen Quinzel," said the man, lighting a cigarette. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Who…who are you?" demanded Harley. "What do you want with me?"

The man smiled. "The name's Sal Valestra," he murmured. "You've probably heard of me."

Harley's heart plummeted in terror. "And what I want from you, Doc, is information," he continued, exhaling a cloud of smoke in her face. "That's all. You give us that, and I promise no harm will come to you."

"What kind of information?" asked Harley. She felt other eyes on her, surrounding her, and her body began shaking in fear.

"Oh, it's very simple, Doc," murmured Sal. "Just tell me everything you know about Harvey Dent. His problems, his fears, his paranoias, any kinda dirt you got on him. You tell me that, and you're a free woman."

"I…I can't violate doctor-patient confidentiality," stammered Harley, in what she hoped was a firm and resolute tone. "So I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

He laughed. "I think you _can _help me, Doc," he murmured, kneeling down in front of her. "I just think you won't. And it's not polite for young ladies to be unhelpful. Especially when we got ways of getting info outta you, ways that I don't think you'll find very pleasant."

"I…I can't help you," repeated Harley, whose voice was just above a whisper. "I'm sorry. Now please let me go."

Sal grinned again. "Well, that's a real shame, Doc," he murmured, puffing on his cigarette as he straightened up. "Because I can't guarantee your safety then, y'see. My boys' methods of interrogation can be pretty rough, and it'd be such a shame to ruin that pretty face of yours," he said, tilting her chin up. "But if you're gonna be uncooperative, you gotta take the consequences of your actions. Jack!" he snapped, releasing her chin.

A man stepped forward. "Take her to the office and persuade her a little. I know it's what you do best," he chuckled.

The bag was shoved over Harley's head again and she felt a strong pair of hands dragging her off. They entered another room, the man released her, and she immediately fell to her knees, her legs turned to jelly with nervousness. The bag was removed from her head, and she was facing a man. A man she recognized again, but this time she knew where from.

"You!" she gasped. "It's you!"

The man said nothing, examining her face gently. "Are you all right?" he murmured. "No bruises or breakages or anything? The guys can be a little rough when they manhandle people."

Harley stared in shock at the man who had financed her future. "Jack Napier," she murmured.

He nodded curtly. "You remember. I'm flattered. And pleased that you became a psychiatrist after all, Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

"What…why…" So many different questions assaulted her brain, along with the gradual realization that this man, this nice man, this man she had felt indebted to for ten years, was the man who had just helped to kidnap her.

"You…you're a criminal!" she gasped.

He laughed. "You hadn't figured that out before?" he grinned. "Who else but a criminal would have fifty thousand dollars cash on hand? Honestly, I thought you were a bright kid!"

"I…I didn't think a nice guy like you could be a criminal," she murmured.

"I told you I wasn't a nice guy," he retorted.

"But…" Harley's mind was still whirling with questions and confusion. "But no one but a nice guy would do what you did for me."

He shrugged, but didn't reply. "Why…did you give me that money?" she murmured.

He shrugged again. "I saw a little of myself in you," he replied. "A fighter. Down on their luck, maybe, but still fighting. I liked that."

He rose, heading over to a coffee machine in the corner. "And you were a pretty, sweet kid who needed a break, and I was in a position to give it to you. It just seemed like a natural thing to do."

He handed her a cup of coffee. "Thank…thank you," stammered Harley, taking it. She sipped it quietly, still trying to process her thoughts. "What…are you going to do to me?" she asked at last.

He sighed, sitting down on the floor next to her. "Well, Sal wants info outta you, so he's expecting me to interrogate you."

"Interrogate…me?" she repeated, slowly. Her eyes fell upon a table in the center of the room, next to a chair with straps attached to it. The table was covered with knives and sharp weapons of various, unpleasant kinds. "Oh God…" she stammered, panicking again and nearly dropping her coffee cup.

"Hey, relax," he said, steadying the mug in her hands. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"Then how…please, please let me go, Jack!" she stammered. "If I reveal anything about Dent, I'll never be allowed to work as a psychiatrist again! But…but I don't think I could bear being tortured…"

"I ain't gonna torture you, kid," he murmured.

"But…but…I don't understand what…"

He took the cup from her shaking hands, and held them in his. "I got a plan," he said. "What I'm gonna do is make up some stuff about Harvey Dent, stuff I claimed that you told me, under duress. Sal's gonna sell that to the papers, who are gonna cite sources close to Dent as the informers. Dent's gonna publicly refute all of it, because it ain't true. But by the time Sal finds out that he was tricked, I'm gonna have smuggled you outta here. Then you can get into some kinda witness relocation program – they give you a new identity and a new career in a new city, and Sal won't be able to get his hands on you again. Pretty good plan, huh?"

"Y…yeah," stammered Harley. "I just don't understand…why you'd do all that for me."

He smiled. "Same reason as before. You're a pretty, sweet kid in a difficult spot, though no fault of your own. And I got the power to help you outta it. It's kinda a no brainer."

"And you still think you're not a nice guy?" she murmured, managing a small smile.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. "The last time I was in this room, I used this on three men," he murmured. "Two of 'em never walked again. So no, Harley – I ain't a nice guy."

"Why are you nice to me, then?" she asked. "Why am I so special?"

He grinned. "Told you. I see a little of myself in you. You're a fighter, kid, just like I am. I like that."

"You…don't know anything about me," she stammered.

"You saying you ain't a fighter?" he asked.

"I…don't know what I am right now," she stammered. "Except scared. I wanna go home."

Tears filled her eyes, and Jack reached into his suit pocket and handed her his handkerchief. "C'mon, crying don't help anything," he murmured. "And we've got some acting to do anyway."

"Acting?" repeated Harley.

He nodded. "I need you to start screaming pretty soon – just so the guys think I'm interrogating you properly."

Harley began shaking again. "I…don't know that I'm comfortable with…"

"Would you rather I made you scream for real?" he interrupted. "Because I don't really wanna do that, but I will, if you're gonna ruin my plan before it's even begun."

Harley nodded slowly. "All right."

"You can start whenever," he said, leaning back and lighting a cigarette.

Harley reluctantly began to scream. "Louder," he murmured. "And more high-pitched."

Harley obeyed. She screamed until she was hoarse, being watched all the time by Jack's intense eyes. He finished the cigarette at last and nodded, raising a hand for her to stop.

"Good," he said, heading over to a bag. He unzipped this and pulled out a smaller bag, which he brought over to Harley.

"What's in there?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

He unzipped it. "Makeup," he said. "Borrowed it from the wife. As long as Sal don't get too close, it should be enough to convince him that I've damaged you pretty good."

He began smearing dark eyeshadow over her face, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and his face close to hers. Harley felt her heart beating in terror again, or…maybe it wasn't terror.

"What's…your wife's name?" she asked, trying to distract herself from her feelings, whatever they were.

"Jeannie," he replied.

"You been married long?"

"Fifteen years," he replied, nodding.

"You must really love her," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I do."

He dipped the sponge in the makeup again, and continued to spread it over her face. "You married?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Dating anyone?" She shook her head again. "Why's that?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "Pretty gal like you…"

"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "Guess I just haven't found the right guy yet. I guess…you just knew when you met Jeannie, huh? That she was the one for you?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life," he murmured. "Honestly I thought I'd never deserve her. I thought she was too perfect to ever be mine. Outta my league, y'know?"

Harley nodded. "But she obviously didn't feel that way, since she married you."

Jack was silent again. "Yeah. Maybe she didn't feel that way then," he murmured. "You know it ain't everything, looks," he said at last. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"Yeah," agreed Harley. "Maybe that's why I haven't found anyone yet."

"Well, your looks ain't the problem, trust me," he said. "You're a knockout, kid. The problem is you're probably outta most guys' leagues. We're a pretty sorry bunch generally, especially when compared to beautiful women."

She smiled. "I don't think that's true," she said. "But thank you."

He drew his hand away. "Yep, even covered in fake bruises, you're still pretty," he said, grinning. "Now take your hair out and mess it up some."

"Oh…mess it up?" repeated Harley, pulling her blonde hair out of its bun. She began ruffling her hair slightly.

"No, really mess it up, kid," he repeated. "Like this."

He began to violently rearrange her hair, shaking it and tugging on it so that Harley winced slightly. "Yep, good," he said at last. "Hair good, face good…need to ruin your clothes a bit more."

He began unbuttoning her top, and then suddenly realized the awkwardness of what he was doing. "Er…you can do that," he said, drawing his hands away hastily. "Just undo a couple buttons."

Harley obeyed, feeling her face growing red. "Couple rips and tears, here and there," he murmured, running his knife down the fabric of her shirt. "Maybe some bruises on your neck and your legs…"

He was about to start working on her bare legs, when he paused again. "You can…do that too," he said, handing her the makeup. Harley took it from him, and began spreading it in circles along her legs.

"Can you see without your glasses?" he asked at last.

"Not…perfectly," she admitted. "I can't read without them…"

"Well, you ain't gonna be doing a lotta reading here," he said, grinning. "Do you mind if I break 'em? I just would, y'see."

She nodded slowly, taking them off and handing them to him. He didn't take them from her – he just stared at her natural face with a strange look in his eyes. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head and taking her glasses. "No. You're just…uh…really pretty. That's all."

He threw her glasses on the ground and then stepped on them. "Now if you just come over here to the chair…"

She took a seat where he indicated, and he began tying her down. "Hope it's not too tight for you there," he said, adjusting the straps. "But it's gotta look real."

"No, it's...not too tight," she murmured. They stared at each other for a few moments, and Harley's heart began beating again at the look in his eyes.

Then he suddenly picked up the instruments, throwing them in the sink and rinsing water over them. "I'll be right back with Sal," he murmured. "Try to look pained."

She nodded, shaking in nervousness again. Jack returned an instant later with Sal. "Oh, Jack, I see you didn't take it easy on the poor shrink," chuckled Sal. "Did she talk yet?"

"It's only a matter of time, boss," replied Jack. "Gimme a couple more days, and I'll have Dent's whole life story for you."

"Good man," he said, clapping Jack on the shoulder. "Sorry about all this, sweetheart," he said, turning to Harley and smiling. "But I did try to warn you. It's best to cooperate with us."

He turned to go. "Untie her and go home, Jack. Your wife must be expecting you back. She can't escape from here."

"Yes, sir," agreed Jack, shutting the door behind him. He released Harley from the restraints. "Are you gonna be ok here on your own?" he asked, helping her out of the chair.

She nodded. "You've done more than enough for me. I can't ask you to stay with me tonight."

"I wouldn't mind," he said, hastily.

"I think your wife probably would," she said, grinning. "She probably misses you."

Jack sighed. "Yeah. Sure she does," he muttered, turning to go. "Uh…I'll be in to check on you first thing tomorrow morning, before the guys get here. So lemme know if you need anything then."

She nodded again. "Thank you, Jack," she murmured. "For…for everything."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured, heading for the door. "Goodnight, Harley."

"Goodnight, Jack," she whispered. The door shut and locked. Harley shivered. The room was cold. She found a couple of ragged blankets under the sink and made a makeshift bed out of them. It was some hours before she finally slept, but until she did, she thought of nothing but Jack Napier.


	5. Chapter 5

Sex between Jack and Jeannie Napier hadn't been anything but purely functional for a while. There was minimal foreplay, minimal kissing, and minimal touching. Jeannie would lie on her back, not making a sound, and with an expression of disgust on her face, knowing she had to put up with this for the sake of her child, but wishing there was some other way to conceive a baby. Jack had taken to closing his eyes during the act, for obvious reasons, and had tried imagining that she was enjoying this instead of seeing it as a chore. He thrust into her, doing his best to ignore her infrequent noises which sounded more like discomfort than enjoyment. And he was surprised to find his thoughts and fantasies wandering – for the first time in his life, he began to imagine that a different woman than Jeannie was lying underneath him. He began to imagine it was Harleen Quinzel.

He could almost see her clearly in front of his eyes, her blonde hair streaming over her small, gorgeous body, her blue eyes wide with pleasure, full of love and adoration as she smiled up at him, her pretty red lips parted as she moaned loudly. "Oh, Jack!" she gasped, in her Brooklyn accent. "Oh Jack! Yes! Oh, faster, baby, faster!"

He increased his pace, knowing he was close, but not wanting this fantasy to end. "Oh yes, that's it!" shrieked Harley. "Oh, that's incredible! You're amazing! Oh, I love you, Jack! I love you!"

He gasped as his climax came, and before he could control himself, he whispered, "Oh…Harley!"

The bedside lamp snapped on instantly. "Who the hell is Harley?!" demanded Jeannie, glaring up at him in fury.

He stared at her, realizing slowly what he had actually said and trying to think up some kind of excuse, but she shoved him off her abruptly.

"You were thinking of another woman when you were having sex with me, weren't you?" she demanded. "I wanna know who she is! Some floozy at the bar? Some blonde bimbo at the strip club? Who is she?!"

"She's not anyone, baby," he said, trying to soothe her. "You must have misheard…"

She slapped him hard. "You disgusting creep!" she shrieked. "Don't tell me I must have misheard! I heard you say another woman's name! What if you just got me pregnant, huh?! I'm gonna have that memory of the night of our baby's conception?! I'm gonna think about her name every time I see our kid, the woman my husband would rather be giving a baby to!"

"Baby, I promise you…" he began, but she slapped him again.

"It doesn't matter," she muttered, standing up and throwing on a robe as she headed for the bathroom. "You ain't made me pregnant. Only a real man can impregnate his wife. And you ain't a real man, Jack Napier."

She slammed the bathroom door. Jack sighed, leaning back on the pillows and reaching for a cigarette. He _had _been thinking about Harley, and that had been wrong. Jeannie had every right to be offended – he wouldn't like her thinking of another man, after all. It was like wishing he was having sex with someone else, and a married man shouldn't be wishing he could be having sex with anyone else but his wife.

He shouldn't have been, but he had. And he didn't feel particularly guilty about it, no matter how his brain tried to chastise him. It wasn't as if that fantasy was ever going to come true, after all, so what harm did it actually do as long as he didn't let her name slip out again? Harley was an objectively attractive young woman – a real knockout, like he had told her. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife anymore – it was just simple biology. Men were attracted to pretty young women. He wasn't going to do anything about it, and there was absolutely no chance of the fantasy happening in real life, so he didn't really see the problem with it. He wasn't actually cheating on his wife, and he never would. She knew that.

The door to the bathroom opened some time later and Jeannie came out. She climbed into bed, not saying a word, and grabbed a cigarette for herself. "Baby, I'm…" he began.

"Don't talk to me," she snapped. "There's nothing to explain. After fifteen years of marriage, you've gotten bored with me, the woman you swore you'd love and cherish til death do us part. But then you can't really expect a man to keep his word, I guess."

"You made the same vow, Jeannie," he murmured. "Do you love and cherish me?"

"So this is payback, is it?" she demanded. "You're having an affair to get back at me because you don't think I treat you right?! That's pathetic, Jack!"

"I'm not having an affair," he muttered. "You know I love you, Jeannie, and only you. You should trust me."

She laughed. "How can I trust you after you shout out some floozy's name during sex?!" she demanded. "What would any woman think if her husband did that?!"

Jack knew it was no good arguing with her, and they smoked in silence. "Who is Harley?" she demanded again.

"No one," he retorted.

"She's just some girl you made up to fantasize about?" she demanded. "So what's she like? Prettier than me?"

"Jeannie, I don't wanna talk to you when you're angry like this," he muttered.

"You think I don't have a right to be angry?!" she shrieked.

"Of course you do, baby," he murmured. "But I'm sorry about what happened. You know I'm sorry. It was a mistake, and it won't happen again…"

"That's exactly what you'd say if you were having an affair, isn't it?" she snapped.

"But I'm not, baby," he murmured. "You have to trust me."

"I don't have to do anything, Jack Napier," she muttered. "Especially not trust you."

She put out her cigarette. "If I find out you're lying to me about this girl, I'm gonna tell Sal," she murmured. "And he's gonna make you pay for cheating on me. At least there's one man out there who still knows how to treat a lady."

"Don't ask Sal about Harley," muttered Jack.

"Why? Will he know who she is?" she demanded. "Is it his girlfriend or something? Someone you wouldn't want him to know you were interested in?"

"I'm not interested in her," snapped Jack. "She deserves better than me."

"Yeah, so do I," retorted Jeannie. "And it probably wouldn't have been hard to find better than you if I had just waited."

Jack said nothing, putting out his own cigarette and rolling over. "Goodnight, Jeannie," he muttered, facing away from her. "I love you."

"Stop lying to me, Jack," she retorted, lying down with her back to him. "And stop lying to yourself."

She flicked off the lamp. Jack stared into the darkness for a long time. "I love you," he repeated, but Jeannie had already fallen asleep. He was repeating it more to reassure himself than her. "I love you, Jeannie."

But when he finally dropped off to sleep, his dreams that night were of Harleen Quinzel.


	6. Chapter 6

Harley heard the door opening and woke up, confused for a moment as to why she was lying on a pile of dirty blankets on the floor. And then the memory of her kidnapping came rushing back to her, and fear and horror clutched at her heart. But those feelings were almost instantly dispelled when Jack Napier walked into the room, to be replaced by other uncertain but incredibly nice feelings.

"Morning, kid!" he said cheerfully, handing her a box of donuts. "Brought you breakfast."

"Oh…thanks," said Harley, sincerely. She was starving, and she opened the box eagerly, devouring the first donut she could get her hands on.

He laughed. "Thought you'd be hungry. Glad I bought a dozen."

"You're welcome to one…" she began, but he shook his head.

"Nah, you help yourself. I've already eaten. Made breakfast for me and the wife – thought it was the least I could do after last night…"

He stopped talking suddenly. "What happened last night?" asked Harley.

"We…uh…had a fight," he said slowly.

"What about?" she asked.

"It's not...er…it doesn't matter," he said, hastily.

"Well, I'm sure she was really grateful you tried to make amends," said Harley.

"Actually she…didn't eat any of it," he muttered. "She poured whiskey into her coffee and then…threw her plate at me."

Harley stared at him in shock. "Are you ok?" she asked.

"Sure, I've got good at dodging," he said, shrugging. "She didn't hit me."

"No, I mean…that's a horrible way to treat another human being!" exclaimed Harley.

"Well, I'm used to it," he said. "Jeannie's been like this for a long time. She's an alcoholic. The least I can do is be patient with her, and forgive her bad behavior. It's the alcohol that does it, y'see."

"Have you tried helping her off the alcohol?" she asked.

He nodded. "Nothing I can really do to help her though, if she won't help herself. And she doesn't want my help. Or to help herself."

"I'm…sorry you're having marriage problems," said Harley. "If you think talking about it would help, I am a psychiatrist."

He laughed. "Talking doesn't help, kid," he replied. "Certainly not with Jeannie. She's never been a very reasonable woman. But I can't criticize her for that – I'm not a very reasonable man."

"You shouldn't make excuses if someone is treating you badly," murmured Harley.

He shrugged. "Well, love is putting up with bad treatment sometimes. If you think the person you love is worth it."

"Is any kind of love worth putting up with violence?" she asked.

He grinned. "Oh yes," he murmured. "You're still young, kid. I'm sure you'll learn, when you're crazy about someone. They're worth everything."

She smiled back. "Your wife is a very lucky woman. I hope she knows that."

He laughed again. "Well, she might have to disagree with you there. But thank you."

Harley was silent. "Has she ever…asked you for a divorce?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't believe in them. She thinks the idea is immoral."

Harley laughed. "I'm sorry, I just…don't know how any woman married to a criminal can find something like divorce immoral."

"Well, we all have our own sense of morality, I guess," replied Jack. "It may not be completely in line with everyone else's, but it's there. Neither of us approve of divorce. Or…infidelity. Jeannie…reacts very strongly toward infidelity."

He avoided her gaze. "Is…that what your fight was about?" asked Harley. "Your wife think you're involved with…another woman?"

"Yeah," agreed Jack, slowly. "She might…think that."

"Why?" asked Harley. He looked at her. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business…" she added, hastily.

"I said the name of another woman during sex," he replied suddenly.

"Oh. Who?" she asked.

He just looked at her. "Oh," she stammered, the realization slowly sinking in. "Oh. I'm…sorry."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have been thinking about you…"

He trailed off, flushing in embarrassment. "I…uh…might have a donut after all," he said, changing the subject suddenly.

"Oh sure, help yourself," she said, holding out the box to him. "The cream-filled ones are really good, but they squirt."

He chuckled. "I'm trying to steer the conversation away from sex, and you give me a sentence like that!"

"I'm sorry," repeated Harley, blushing.

"Hey, it's the donut's fault!" he chuckled. "Next time I'll bring you a dessert that has absolutely no relation to sex."

"Like what?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Pudding?"

"I'm sure that's some kinda innuendo," she replied.

"Nah. Can you imagine a gal talking about pudding in the middle of things? It would completely ruin the mood."

"I dunno," she said, grinning. "I can see it as kinda a cute pet name. Like cupcake or honey or something."

He looked at her. "If any dame started calling me pudding, it would be over," he said, firmly.

Harley grinned. "Ok, puddin'," she replied. "There. Now things don't have to be awkward between us, because you're definitely not attracted to me anymore."

"You got that right, toots," he said, smiling.

"Anyway, thanks for the donuts, puddin'," she said.

He made a face. "Yep, that's killed it," he said. "Jeannie ain't got nothing to worry about. Not that she ever did, I mean…"

"I know what you mean, puddin'," she said, grinning.

He pointed a finger at her warningly. "You watch yourself, or I really will torture you today, toots."

"Oooh, I'm really scared, puddin'," she replied.

"All right, you little brat, you asked for it," he said, smiling. "C'mere."

He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the chair, securing her in the restraints. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Reapplying your bruise makeup," he retorted. "It's rubbed off during the night. And I ain't gonna be gentle this time."

"Now I think today, you're gonna crack a little," he continued, dabbing makeup roughly onto her cheeks. "Tell me some of Dent's dirty little secrets. Any ideas, or should I just make up some juicy details?"

"No, I'd like to hear your theories on the kind of thing that drove an upstanding young man to be the District Attorney," replied Harley.

"Ok," he said, nodding. "Childhood trauma. He accidentally killed someone. No!" he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Someone close to him was killed. So he was determined to seek justice for them by being a part of the justice system when he grew up."

"You don't think a childhood trauma of that kind would spawn a more damaged and unstable mind?" asked Harley. "Maybe one that wanted to take the law into its own hands? A kinda vigilante who doesn't believe in the system?"

"I guess that'd be the crazy response," replied Jack, nodding. "But Dent don't seem that crazy to me. I mean, I know he's seeing a shrink and all, but a guy don't have to be crazy to wanna see you everyday."

Harley grinned. "You're sweet, puddin'. Ow!" she cried suddenly, as the sponge went into her eye.

"Sorry, kid, didn't mean to stab you there," he said, grinning.

"Sure you didn't," she replied. "You're right – you're not a nice guy."

"And don't you forget it," he retorted, smiling.

They heard the door open, and Jack shoved the makeup into his pocket hastily. "Hard at work already, are we, Jack?" said Sal, entering the room. "Sorry, sweetheart, but he does tend to seize the day. Reliable as clockwork, that's Jack."

He clapped him on the back. "Think we might get something useful outta her today?"

"I'll certainly do my best, sir," replied Jack, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

"Good. Well, I'll leave the master to work," chuckled Sal, heading for the door. "Hope he don't hurt you too badly, sweetheart, but I wouldn't bet on it."

He laughed as he shut the door. "I don't see how you can work for that man," muttered Harley as he gently untied her.

He shrugged. "Pays the bills. Wouldn't wanna get on the bad side of Sal, though. The guy's crazy. I feel kinda bad for Harvey Dent, to tell you the truth. Sal's gonna stop at nothing to hurt him."

"Well, it's possible Sal's gonna be too late," murmured Harley. "Dent's in serious danger of hurting himself."

"There's something really wrong with him, huh?" asked Jack. "Suicidal or something?"

"Not…really," replied Harley, slowly. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about it."

"Just curious," he said, shrugging. "I gotta think of something to make up about him anyway – the truth would just distract me."

He reached for a cigarette. "You scream – I'll think," he said.

"Will the screaming help you think?" she asked.

He grinned. "Usually does. Whenever you're ready," he said, gesturing as he lit the cigarette.

Harley screamed, watching Jack puff lazily on the cigarette. When he signaled for her to stop at last, she asked, "Any ideas?"

"A bunch," he agreed, nodding. "Well, give the people what they want. Sex and money."

He stamped on the end of his cigarette. "Dent's been embezzling his campaign funds and is spending his ill-gotten gains on gambling, drugs, and women. He's seeing you because he feels he's addicted to the stealing, as well as the spending. You're trying to help him overcome all his addictions. And it's taking a lotta work."

He headed for the door. "Maybe tomorrow you'll give me details about where exactly he spends this money. I'm sure I can think of a few joints where immoral guys do that kinda thing."

"You're not an immoral guy, huh, puddin'?" she asked.

He grinned. "I'm not a nice guy. But I'm not an immoral guy either. At least not by my standards. For instance, you just called me puddin' again, which means I should hit you or something. But I ain't the kinda guy who hits a woman, even if my boss orders me to."

He tipped his hat at her. "I'll be back later, kid. Try not to miss me too much."

She beamed at him until he left, and then her smile gradually fell. "He's a married man," she muttered to herself. "And I'm not the kinda girl who goes after married men. No matter how unhappily married they seem to be."

She picked up another donut. "It's none of my business," she said, firmly. "He's gonna help me escape, and I'm never gonna see him again. There's no point getting my hopes up about him. There is no hope."

But she couldn't control her thoughts, which wandered endlessly back to Jack Napier. Nor the feeling of loss at his absence. Nor the burning desire to see him again. And she wondered what she would do if he tried to make a move on her, if he tried to kiss her or something. She wasn't sure she would push him away. Quite the opposite, in fact. She wondered how frail her own morality must be if she was thinking that way about a married man. And it hurt her to think that she apparently had fewer morals than a gangster.

"It doesn't matter," she reassured herself. "He won't try anything. And neither will I."


	7. Chapter 7

Harley spent the rest of the day in Jack's company, and she couldn't have been happier. Later that evening, Jack's phone suddenly rang, and his smile fell when he saw that it was Jeannie. "Uh…excuse me for a second," he said, going over to a corner and answering it. "Hello? Hi, sweet…well, I dunno, probably in another hour or two. Why? Uh huh. Well, I'm still at Sal's working. Of course I am. Why do you think…baby, I told you…baby, don't be like that, please…how much have you been drinking?"

Harley suddenly heard a shriek from the other end, and then a torrent of loud, incomprehensible abuse shot through the phone, causing Jack to hold it away from his ear. "Baby, please…calm down, it was just a question! Baby…baby, please stop shouting. Baby…look, I'll be home as soon as I can. Yeah. Yeah, of course we can…try again tonight. Baby, you don't know that…yeah, sweetheart. Yeah. Ok. See you soon. I love…"

Harley heard the phone click off. Jack sighed, staring at it for a moment and then turning back to Harley. "Sorry, she's…kinda in a bad mood," he murmured. "Still angry about last night. You gonna be ok if I head off?"

"Of course," she replied.

He nodded. "You were…warm enough and everything last night, huh? I can pop out and get some blankets if you need 'em."

"No, you head home," she said. "She sounds like she needs you."

"Yeah," he sighed. "She needs me to try to give her a baby again. Which I can't. So I don't even know why we're still trying."

He stuffed his phone angrily back into his pocket, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, I…don't wanna burden you with my problems."

"No, I don't mind," said Harley hastily. "You two…are having trouble conceiving?"

He nodded. "My fault, probably," he muttered. "At least Jeannie thinks so. But I think it's for the best that we can't. Kids deserve a happy home, y'know? And we ain't got a very happy home."

"I'm sorry," said Harley, sincerely. "I really am. I wish there was something I could do to help."

He shrugged. "I'm sure she'll get over it in time. And who knows? Maybe tonight will be our lucky night."

He headed for the door. "I…wish you didn't have to go," said Harley suddenly, before she could help herself.

"Yeah. Me too," he murmured.

"Then…stay," she stammered. "Just for a little while longer. I mean…she's already angry. What harm can it do?"

He waited by the door for a few moments, and then pulled his hand away from it and turned back toward Harley. "All right," he said, sitting down next to her. He lit a cigarette and smoked in silence.

"I…hope you'll never know what it's like to be a complete disappointment to someone you love," he murmured at last. "To feel like everything you do is wrong. To feel like an utter failure in their eyes. To see…the eyes you'd do anything to fill with happiness glare at you in hatred. It's…almost unbearable."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke slowly. "I…ain't an emotional guy at the best of times," he murmured. "But when I'm with Jeannie lately I just feel…like she's stabbing me in the heart repeatedly. And it's almost impossible just to take that calmly. But I do. I do."

"Have you thought about marriage counseling?" asked Harley.

He laughed. "We don't really believe in shrinks, toots. No offense," he said. "Anyway, Jeannie would never accept that anything about our unhappiness is her fault. She's a very proud woman. And she's probably right. Most of it is…my fault."

"I don't think that's true," said Harley, firmly. "I think you're a wonderful man. Anyway, the problems in a relationship are rarely just the fault of one person. A relationship is a partnership, and it requires both people in it to work hard in order to make it work."

"Is that what they teach you in shrink school?" he said, grinning. "Geez, you spend fifty thousand dollars just to be taught common sense. Glad I never went to college. Sounds like a rip-off."

"Well, it got me where I am today," replied Harley. She looked around. "So yeah, I guess that's pretty disappointing."

He laughed. "I like your sense of humor, kid," he murmured. "Jeannie don't…have much of a sense of humor. She likes me to be serious about everything. Especially her. She always says I…joke too much. And she tells me she ain't a joke, and her happiness ain't a joke, and I should take it all a little more seriously."

He puffed on his cigarette. "But I _do _take her seriously. I just think if I didn't have my jokes, I'd go crazy. You can't be serious all the time – life ain't like that. You'll be unhappy all the time. And maybe that's _why_ Jeannie's unhappy all the time."

He blew out a cloud of smoke. "I do wish I could give her a baby, though. To stop her being so upset, for one. And to know that there ain't nothing wrong with me."

"You could always go to a fertility clinic…" began Harley.

"Nah," he interrupted, hastily. "To have to…y'know, in a cup? Only to be told by some stranger that something's biologically wrong with ya? Nah, I'll spare myself that humiliation, thanks, toots."

"But then if there isn't something…biologically wrong with you, you can prove it's Jeannie's fault," she said.

"And where would that get me?" he asked. "She'd be even more depressed and start drinking even more. No, it's better not to know, and just keep hoping. It's only been eight months. Maybe my boys are just slow swimmers."

Harley smiled at this. "You want kids someday?" he asked.

"Someday," she agreed.

He grinned. "Guess it's good that I'm already married, then. So I don't end up disappointing two women. Not that we'd hypothetically be trying for a baby or anything…"

"I know what you mean, puddin'," she interrupted.

He smoked in silence. "Anyway, I should probably…get going," he said, standing up.

"You could never disappoint me," she said, suddenly. "I don't think your wife knows how lucky she is to have a guy like you. It's pretty obvious that you'd do anything in the world for her, and that's all a girl wants in a man, really. Someone who just…thinks she's the greatest."

He studied her. "You'll find someone who thinks that way about you too," he murmured. "Someday."

"Yeah," agreed Harley. "I'm sure I will."

She curled up on her blankets. "Night, Jack," she murmured.

Jack left her, heading for his car. The other guys had all left the hideout, and so Jack had nothing but his own thoughts to distract himself on the drive home. His own thoughts, which were screaming at him not to go home to have unpleasant sex with the woman who didn't appreciate him, and to stay with Harley. Not to do anything to her – just to be around her. To be around a woman who clearly did appreciate him, and did want him around, not just as someone to use, but as someone to value. And although the sensible part of his brain was telling him not to give into temptation, he found himself turning the car around before he could control himself.

He opened the door to Harley's room, but Harley appeared to be asleep. She was breathing heavily, and he hated to wake her. His mind was screaming at him, demanding that he leave and return to Jeannie right now, but he ignored his mind, for the first time in his life.

He crept carefully over to Harley and slowly lay down next to her, watching how peaceful and beautiful her face looked in sleep. He carefully slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. She murmured softly but didn't wake, cuddling into his body. Jack let out a soft sigh of pleasure. It was the first time in a long time that a woman had voluntarily cuddled him, that a woman's face had been smiling because she was with him. He breathed in the scent of her hair, shutting his eyes and enjoying her heartbeat drumming against his, in a soft, gentle rhythm. Jack felt for the first time in a long time that he was at peace with the world, and gradually drifted off to sleep.

…

He awoke to feel his phone vibrating violently against his chest, startling him awake. He was disoriented for a moment at the sight of sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows – this wasn't his bedroom. And he was holding a woman…he never held Jeannie. But as the woman's eyes gradually opened, he realized with a lurch that this wasn't Jeannie. And Harley was as surprised to see him there as he was to see her.

He seized his phone. "H…hello?" he stammered.

"Jack Napier, where the hell have you been?!" shrieked Jeannie's annoyed voice. "I've been calling you all night!"

"Jeannie…baby…I've just been…out with the guys," he stammered, hurrying to his feet. Harley continued to stare at him, surprised. "We had a little too much to drink, and I didn't think it was safe to drive, so I stayed over at…"

"Did you stay with Harley, is that who you stayed with?!" she shrieked. "Was that the little floozy's name?!"

"No, baby, that's…not it at all," he stammered. "I promise you, I got drunk with the guys…"

"You're a selfish bastard, Jack Napier!" she interrupted, angrily. "I asked you to come home early last night so we could try for a baby, and you get wasted with the guys and then spend the night at some slut's house, when your wife is at home wanting you! Any man in the world would kill for that! But you don't care, Jack! And don't you dare come home expecting me to be happy to see you! Stay with your little whore forever, for all I care!"

"Baby…" he began, but the phone clicked off. Harley was still staring at him.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I…I…" Jack stammered, at a loss to explain himself. In the clear light of day, what he had done didn't make much sense, and actually seemed pretty wrong. "I…didn't wanna go home to Jeannie. So I came back here to…to talk to you, but you were already asleep so I just thought I'd…lie next to you for a while because you…you looked so beautiful…but I wasn't gonna try anything, you gotta believe me, I just wanted…"

He trailed off, gazing at her desperately. "What did you want?" she murmured.

"I just wanted to feel…loved, I guess," he murmured. "And you make me feel that. You make me feel that you want me around and appreciate me, and…it's just been a long time since I felt that. I swear, I didn't touch you – it was all completely innocent…"

"I believe you," she murmured.

"I…I should have been more careful," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep, but it was just so…wonderful, being with you. So peaceful and calm, to just lie there with you…I mean, if you knew what things are really like between Jeannie and me…"

He shook his head violently, almost to chastise himself. "But that's no excuse," he muttered, darkly. "I…shouldn't have stayed here, I shouldn't have done this, I'm sorry…" he said, heading for the door.

She grabbed his hand as he passed. "Don't leave me," she whispered, gazing up at him. "Please."

There was love and adoration shining through her beautiful blue eyes. Everything he had wanted so desperately to see in Jeannie's eyes for so many years. It was utterly irresistible.

He seized her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. Harley didn't resist in the slightest, pulling him down to her as she returned the kiss with equal passion. Harley was almost shocked at how easy it was to surrender her own sense of morality against the onslaught of his lips – she was almost shocked to find herself trying to tug at his clothing. At least, she would have been shocked if she was thinking about anything else but how incredible his kiss was.

"Harley…no!" he gasped, drawing himself away suddenly. "I…I can't…I'm a married man…"

"She doesn't love you," whispered Harley. "I do."

He gulped. "I…I can't cheat on Jeannie," he stammered. "I just…can't…"

He pulled himself off her. "This is a mistake," he insisted, standing up. "I…I gotta go. I'll see you around, kid," he gasped, rushing out the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Harley burst into tears, curling up with her knees to her chest and sobbing. But she wasn't crying in remorse at what she had done – she was crying at what they hadn't done.

Jack leaned against the door, hearing her sobs and feeling his heart break. "I can't," he hissed firmly to himself. And he forced himself back into his car and drove home to Jeannie.


	8. Chapter 8

"Jeannie, I'm just heading off to work," said Jack Napier, entering the living room.

Jeannie grunted, flipping a page in her magazine and continuing to smoke. "I'll be home early," he said, bending down to kiss her forehead.

She drew back, glaring at him and grunting again. "You ain't gonna talk to me before I go?" he asked, quietly.

"I have nothing to say to you, Jack Napier," she muttered, flipping another page. "And I'm sure you have nothing to say to me that you haven't already said. I'm not really in the mood to hear more lies anyway."

"I'm not lying to you, baby," he murmured. "I wasn't with anyone, and nothing happened…"

"You know, no matter how many times you repeat it, it doesn't sound any more true," she interrupted. "Just get outta here, Jack. I'm happier when you're gone anyway."

He looked at her. "Why do you treat me like this, Jeannie?" he murmured. "What have I ever done to deserve this hatred and coldness from you?"

"You don't know?" she snapped, glaring up at him.

He shook his head. "I…I think I've always tried to be a good husband…"

"What you have been, Jack, is an utter failure," snapped Jeannie, angrily. "I married you because I had hoped that in a few years, with all your apparent talents and promise, that you'd be running your own gang, and I'd be the wife of a mob boss. But I've spent fifteen years waiting for you to have some kinda career success, and here you are still some second-rate gangster taking orders from Sal Valestra. You betrayed my trust in you, and you failed me. And so I'm stuck in this dingy little apartment day after day, waiting for you to bring home your pitiful little salary and trying to find some way to entertain myself. And so one day it hit me that maybe I could occupy myself with having a baby. That's what women do, so they're not stuck at home bored all the time. And I thought this is one way in which Jack can't possibly disappoint my hopes. And yet, in a monumental feat of failure, you have. The most basic, unskilled thing a man can do, the simplest biological impulse, and you can't even fulfill that. You're not a man, Jack Napier, and certainly not a man I should have married. You're a clown, and a fool, and a joker, and that's all you'll ever be. And since you've made me so miserable, I'm determined to show you the same courtesy. That's what a marriage is, after all – tit for tat. Now go off to your pathetic job, or to some pathetic woman who thinks failure is attractive. But that's not me, Jack. I can't love a failure, or a fool, or a joker."

Jack just looked at her, staring back at the hatred in her eyes and wondering if he should respond. But how could anyone respond to that? He turned and left her without another word, quietly shutting the door to the apartment.

Jeannie waited until she heard his footsteps die away down the stairs, and then reached for the home telephone, dialing a number.

"Hello?"

"Sal? It's Jeannie."

"Why, Mrs. Napier! What a wonderful surprise! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"It's Jeannie," she repeated. "Call me Jeannie, Sal. I don't want to be associated with anything to do with my husband, and certainly not his name."

"I'm very sorry to hear that you and Jack are having problems," replied Sal, in a tone that implied the opposite. "How can any man not appreciate such a beautiful and precious treasure in his midst?"

"You've always been a sweet guy, Sal," murmured Jeanne, smiling. "Sometimes I regret my hasty marriage to Jack, y'know, when I know there were lots of other nice guys out there. Guys who would probably have made me a lot better husband."

"I'm very flattered that you think so, Jeannie," murmured Sal. "Now how can I help a gorgeous woman such as yourself?"

Jeannie was silent for a moment. "Do you know who Harley is?" she asked, suddenly.

"Harley?" repeated Sal. "No, I can't say that name rings a bell. Why?"

"Just…Jack shouted out that name when he and I were…being intimate recently," said Jeannie, slowly. "I just thought she might be a waitress or a stripper or someone you might have come across when you were all out together."

"Harley," repeated Sal, thoughtfully. "Harl…" He paused suddenly.

"Sal? You still there?" asked Jeannie. "What is it? Do you know who she is?"

A cruel smile formed around Sal Valestra's thin lips. "Oh yes, Jeannie," he murmured. "Yes, I think I might."

…

The door to Harley's room opened, and her heart sped up as she expected Jack to enter. But it plummeted suddenly when she saw Sal Valestra enter the room instead.

"Time I had a little chat with you personally, sweetheart," he murmured, approaching her. Harley backed away, but he seized her by the shoulders roughly, slamming her against the wall and tightening one hand around her throat. As she struggled, he used his other hand to wipe the makeup from her face.

"He ain't been torturing you, has he?" Sal murmured, quietly. "He's been screwing you instead."

He released her throat suddenly and Harley gasped for air, and instantly cried out in pain as Sal's hand struck her across the face. "You know he's married, don't you, you little whore?" he hissed. "To a real babe of a dame! I dunno any reason why he'd cheat on her for you!"

He struck her again and Harley shrieked as she felt blood begin to pour from her nose. "He's a goddamn idiot, I guess," muttered Sal. "Or maybe you slept with him so he wouldn't torture you, I dunno. But I do know one thing."

He seized both her arms, twisting them behind her back so she screamed in pain. "He disobeyed my orders," he whispered. "And he made a huge mistake. One he's gonna really regret by the end of today. And so will you," he muttered, dragging her out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

"Buzz? Chuckie? You guys seen Sal this morning?" asked Jack, entering the common room, puzzled. "I was gonna report to him on Dent."

"He left about an hour ago with the shrink," replied Chuckie, not looking up from the TV and munching on a bag of potato chips.

Jack stared at him. "With the shrink?" he repeated.

"Yeah," agreed Buzz. "Looked like you roughed her up pretty good, Jack. Her face was all bloody."

Jack felt panic seize at his heart, but tried to remain outwardly calm. "Did he say where they were going?" he asked.

"Uh…not sure," said Chuckie, furrowing his brow. "You remember, Buzz?"

"Yeah…gimme a minute," said Buzz. "One of his dumping grounds – I guess the shrink told him all he needed to know about Dent."

This did nothing to ease Jack's mind. After Sal found that his prisoners or hostages had outlived their usefulness, he would take them to one of his dumping grounds to dispose of them, usually a chemical factory of some kind, where the acid would dissolve the bodies without a trace.

"Which one?" he asked, trying to remain calm.

"Why are you so interested?" asked Buzz.

"I'm…uh…supposed to meet him there," invented Jack. "And he'll be mad as hell if I don't."

"Oh God, it's something with a playing card name," said Buzz, rubbing his temples. "Joker…no…Ace! That's it! Ace Chemicals!"

"Gee, with a memory like that, Buzz, you could go on a gameshow," said Chuckie, turning back to the TV. "Ain't that right, Jack?"

But Jack had already disappeared out the door, leaping into his car and praying he wasn't too late.

…

Harley had fainted from the pain, but her eyes opened slowly at last to see a beautiful woman, glamorously dressed in furs, studying her with a look of disgust. "She's not much to look at, is she?" asked the woman, straightening up. "What do you think Jack sees in the little bitch?"

"She's nothing compared to you, Jeannie, that's for sure," said Sal Valestra. Harley tried move, but found that her arms and legs were tied. She was kneeling on what appeared to be a metal platform, and her eyes widened as she looked down at a vat of churning, green chemicals below her.

"That's right, sweetheart – it's a long way down!" chuckled Sal. "Nasty drop. And just see what that stuff down there does to metal," he said, picking up a loose screw and tossing it down into the vat. The chemicals hissed around the metal object and then dissolved it, like acid.

"It's even more effective on human flesh," murmured Sal, lighting Jeannie's cigarette and then his own.

Harley's stomach plummeted in fear. "N…no, please," she whispered. "You…don't have to do this."

Sal chuckled. "It ain't a matter of wanting, sweetheart – it's a matter of honor!" He nodded at Jeannie. "This here is Jeannie Napier, Jack's wife. You've really dishonored her, sleeping with her husband and all. And I'm the kinda guy who likes to avenge a lady's honor."

"I haven't…we haven't…" stammered Harley. "We haven't done anything wrong…I haven't slept with him, I swear! Now please let me go!"

"Ugh, she's so pathetic, Sal!" sighed Jeannie, exhaling a cloud of smoke irritably. "Lying and begging you for mercy! Maybe that's why Jack likes her – she's just as pathetic as he is."

"I'm not lying…" began Harley.

"Oh, I believe you'll tell me the truth soon enough, sweetheart," chuckled Sal, lifting her up by her bound arms and pulling them over a hook. He pressed a button and the hook swung out over the vat, so that Harley was suspended just above the churning, green acid.

"Y'see, not only is this great for disposing of bodies, but it can also be a really effective torture weapon!" laughed Sal. "All I have to do is press this button here to lower you into that acid. Not all of you, of course – probably just your feet to start with, and then your legs, and so on, working our way up. Most people don't last long past their waist getting burned off, but sometimes it's fun to see how long people can go. Somehow I don't think you're gonna be one of the tough ones."

He lowered her so that her feet were dangling just above the acid. "Now, let's talk about Harvey Dent, shall we?" he murmured. "What's wrong with him?"

Harley had no choice. She was panicking in fear, and told him exactly what he wanted to know. "He…has another personality," she stammered. "He calls it Big Bad Harv. It's a manifestation of all the anger he's repressed over the years, and it's transformed into a monster capable of destroying Harvey. He has to constantly fight it, but he's losing the battle. He'll snap one day soon – it's only a matter of time."

"And what happens when he snaps, sweetheart?" asked Sal, tossing his cigarette butt into the acid and causing it to splash, burning a tiny hole in Harley's shirt.

"He'll…he'll probably go insane," whispered Harley, trying to hold back tears. "Go on a rampage fueled by anger and hatred."

"A murderous rampage?" asked Sal, eagerly.

"I…I don't know," she gasped. "His other personality is completely unpredictable. I don't know what it's capable of."

Sal shook his head. "God, I can't imagine what it'd be like to have mental health problems. Poor bastards."

He lit another cigarette, tossing the used match into the acid and causing a little to splash onto Harley's bare leg. She gasped at the sudden sting and began crying. "Please!" she whispered. "Please let me go!"

"You've been so helpful, Doc, I guess that's only fair," said Sal, nodding. He pressed a button and the hook pulled her up again, but he stopped her halfway to the top. "Oh, but wait, I forgot we still needed to satisfy Jeannie's honor," he said, grinning at her. "What kinda revenge would you like for this woman cheating with your husband, Jeannie?"

Jeannie grinned, exhaling her cigarette. "Oh, I dunno, Sal," she murmured. "Have a little fun with it."

"Dame after my own heart!" laughed Sal. He suddenly pressed the button, sending Harley plummeting down. She screamed, but was pulled up again just before she hit the acid. "I just like to play with 'em first," explained Sal, smiling at Jeannie. "So it's a sudden shock when I dump 'em in for real. They never see it coming."

"Sal, stop it!" shouted a voice. Harley turned to see Jack rushing across the platform toward them. "Let her go!"

"Is that really the phrase you wanna use in this situation, Jack?" laughed Sal. "But if you insist…"

His hand moved toward the button. "Sal, please, don't hurt her," said Jack. "Just let her go. I'll get her away from Gotham – you'll never see her again…"

"God, he's just as pathetic as she is," muttered Jeannie. "I hate seeing a man beg. It's disgusting. Especially the man I'm married to."

Jack suddenly noticed she was there. "Jeannie," he whispered, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching a master criminal work," she replied, nodding at Sal. "He's good, Jack. Just look at the fear in your little whore's eyes."

"She's not my…" began Jack.

"Oh, can't you just admit it, you disgusting excuse for a man?" demanded Jeannie. "Or are you really going to lie to me again?"

Jack nodded slowly. "I did…spend the night with Harley," he murmured. "But we didn't…have sex."

Jeannie laughed. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," he retorted. "I expect you to trust me. And love me. But maybe you're right, Jeannie. Maybe I am a fool for expecting that. And for not seeing sooner that you're the cruelest, most heartless woman a man could ever have the misfortune of being married to."

Jeannie gaped at him. "How dare you…" she began.

"Every day of our married life I have tried to make you happy, and you've taken everything I've ever done for you and thrown it all back in my face," interrupted Jack, growing angry. "You're an ungrateful, mean, selfish woman, and I am beyond glad that I wasn't able to give you a child to inflict your horrible personality onto. No child deserves that."

Jeannie said nothing, glaring back at him. Then she turned to Sal. "Sal, drop her in. But slowly. I wanna watch both her and Jack suffer."

Sal obeyed, pressing the button. Harley moved steadily down toward the acid. Jack started forward to stop Sal, but he whipped out his gun, pointing it at Jack. Jack looked helplessly from Sal to Harley, lingering briefly on Jeannie. And then he jumped.

He leaped off the platform, seizing Harley in his arms and swinging them both over the vat of acid onto the platform on the other side. Jack grabbed ahold of the railing, pulling Harley over and cutting the ropes which held her. He ducked as Sal began shooting at them both.

"We have to get outta here," he gasped, grabbing her hand and racing along the platform. Sal kept firing at them, hitting some chemical tankards which began spilling their contents into the vats below.

"Keep your head down," he whispered, as they raced down the stairs. "I don't think he can hit us from here…"

Just as he said that, Sal shot another chemical tankard, which suddenly exploded. The blast knocked them both backward onto the platform, as well as catching on the chemicals below them. In a moment, the whole factory was on fire.

Jack stood up, choking on the smoke and grabbing Harley's hand. "C'mon!" he gasped. The route to the stairs was now in flames, so he headed for the window opposite.

"Going somewhere, Jack?" hissed a voice.

The smoke cleared to reveal Sal blocking their path, aiming his gun at them. "Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, grinning at Harley. "End of the line."

He fired at her. Harley watched the whole thing in slow motion – the bullet came toward her…and then Jack jumped in front of her.

The bullet embedded itself in his arm, knocking him back against the railing, which gave way. Harley reached out to grab his arm, but the blood made it slippery, and he fell down into the vat of chemicals below them.

He hit the green acid with a splash and a hiss, disappearing beneath the waves. "Jack!" Harley screamed, but her cry was immediately drowned out by another explosion, as debris began to fall from the roof, crashing down on the platform between her and Sal.

"Jeannie, c'mon!" she heard Sal cry. Harley choked on the smoke, feeling tears come to her eyes as she raced toward the window. Taking a deep breath and coughing, she launched herself out through the glass, landing on the ground a few feet below with a crunch.

The factory exploded a moment later. Harley curled up into a ball, trying to shield herself from the raining fire and ashes. "Jack," she whispered, sitting up at last and staring at the smoking ruin. But there was no sign of him, Sal, or Jeannie. Harley was completely alone.


	10. Chapter 10

"So you can't confirm whether Sal Valestra perished in the fire at Ace Chemicals or not?" asked Commissioner Gordon. Harley sat opposite him in his office, wrapped in a blanket and drinking a cup of coffee.

"No, I'm sorry, I can't," she whispered.

"I've got units searching the debris for the bodies, but they haven't found anything yet," said Gordon. "You can confirm that Jack Napier perished, however?"

Harley nodded slowly, tears filling her eyes again. "Yes. He fell into the acid. He…he was trying to save me."

She buried her face in her hands. "It's all my fault!" she sobbed. "It's my fault he died! If I had just told Sal what he wanted to know in the first place…"

"You tried to do the right thing, Dr. Quinzel," murmured Gordon, gently. "There's no shame in that. You performed very bravely in exceptional circumstances…"

She shook her head. "No, Jack did," she whispered. "All I did was get him killed."

Gordon handed her a box of tissues. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Were you and Mr. Napier…intimate at all?" he asked, gently.

She looked up at him. "Is that really any of your business?" she muttered.

He shrugged. "I like to have as many facts as possible when I have to report on a case."

"I was in love with him, if that's what you want to hear," murmured Harley. "But no, we were never…intimate. He was married. And he took that responsibility very seriously."

"Strangely honorable man, for a gangster," replied Gordon.

"He was a wonderful man," agreed Harley. "That's why I loved him."

Gordon went to go pour her more coffee. "Mr. Dent's on his way," he said. "He's been told Sal Valestra might be dead, and I think he wants to thank you personally for bringing it about."

"Does he know I betrayed him to Sal?" asked Harley.

"I don't really see what that matters, if Sal's dead," replied Gordon.

"And if he isn't?" asked Harley.

Gordon shrugged. "It's good that Harvey's warned anyway. You can't blame yourself, Dr. Quinzel. Nobody would have been able to resist talking under that kind of torture."

"I feel guilty about everything that's happened because of me," she murmured. "And everything that _will _happen. It's all my fault."

Gordon opened his mouth to say something comforting, when Harvey Dent entered the room. "Hey, Doc, you ok?" he asked gently, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her.

"She's had a pretty rough few days," replied Gordon.

"I'm just glad she's safe now," said Dent. "Not just for her own sake, but for mine too. I couldn't have lived with your blood on my hands."

"Yes, it's a horrible feeling," murmured Harley, wrapping her blanket tightly around her. "And it's one I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life."

She looked up at him. "If Sal's alive, he knows about Harv," she murmured.

Dent's face flickered slightly – his lip twitched downward, but then he resumed his charming smile. "Well, we'll just have to hope that he's dead, then. For a number of reasons."

He straightened up, facing Gordon. "Dr. Quinzel is going to need police protection," he murmured. "If Sal's alive, he's going to be looking for her to silence her permanently. In fact, the sooner she can get out of Gotham, the better."

"What about your sessions?" asked Harley. "How have you been coping in my absence?"

Dent's lip twitched again. "Fine," he replied, calmly. "Great. Couldn't be better. Look, Doc, I can always find myself another shrink. Your safety's more important than my therapy at the moment."

"Harvey's right," agreed Gordon. "We need to get you out of Gotham. Do you have any place you can go? Any friends or family you can stay with?"

Harley shook her head slowly. "Not…really."

"We can get her onto Witness Protection, can't we, Jim?" asked Dent.

"It might take some time, though," agreed Gordon. "Giving people new identities doesn't happen overnight. But we'll get her a police escort until we do. Don't worry about your safety, Dr. Quinzel. You'll have Gotham's finest protecting you."

Harley nodded. "I'd like to continue to work, if that's ok," she murmured. "I think focusing on my patients will help me overcome my personal trauma."

"Are you sure that's wise, Dr. Quinzel?" asked Gordon.

"I think…my patients need me," said Harley softly, looking up at Dent. "Don't they?"

Dent shrugged. "I won't deny that I'd like to resume our sessions, Doc. But I don't wanna bother you when you've just had this kinda thing happen to you…"

"I think it will help," repeated Harley, firmly. "Both of us."

Dent shrugged again. "If you're sure. Are you done here?" he asked Gordon. "Can I take her home?"

Gordon nodded. "I think she's told us everything she can. It's nice to have met you, Dr. Quinzel," he said, shaking her hand. "You're a very brave woman."

Dent escorted Harley to his car, which was waiting outside the station. Harley gave his driver her address, and Dent climbed in the backseat after her. "I'm sorry about what I told Sal…" she began.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he interrupted, gently. "I've got bigger problems than worrying about some guy who might be dead anyway."

He looked out the window for a moment. "If you're serious about continuing on as a shrink and all…" he began, slowly. "I've got a…friend who…might like to talk to you. He's been having some…issues."

"What kinda issues?" asked Harley, eager to be distracted from her own dark thoughts.

"He'll…uh…have to tell you that himself," murmured Dent. "But he's my oldest friend and I'm worried about him, so I really hope you can help."

"Who is he?" asked Harley.

He looked at her. "Bruce Wayne."

Harley stared at him. "Bruce Wayne? The celebrity billionaire?"

"Yeah. He puts on that happy playboy façade, but if you know him, really know him, like I do…" Dent trailed off. "He ain't so happy. And he needs to talk to someone before he does something…stupid."

"Like what?" asked Harley.

"I dunno," said Dent. "He's just…" He leaned forward. "Between you and me, Doc, you say I got a split personality, but I kinda suspect Bruce has got one too. When you really know the guy, he's the most serious and solemn man in the world. Doesn't ever smile. Still wrapped up in guilt and grief over his parents' murder when he was a boy. But the face he puts on for everyone else, the show, the happy, smiling playboy – that's all an act, Doc. A performance. And I'm kinda afraid his…dark personality is gonna do something foolish. I can't help him. But maybe you can. You're a shrink, an outsider…he might listen to you."

Harley nodded slowly. "Bring him to my office for our session tomorrow. I'll certainly see what I can do."

…

"This isn't necessary," muttered Bruce Wayne, as he and Harley sat in her office. Dent was waiting outside, but Harley had insisted for a few minutes alone with Bruce.

"Maybe not," agreed Harley. "But your friend is worried about you. Don't you think you owe it to him to try to talk to me?"

"There's nothing to talk about," retorted Bruce. "Talking doesn't make things better. Only action can do that."

"And what kind of action are you thinking of taking, Mr. Wayne?" asked Harley.

He was silent. "Are you still grieving for your parents?" she asked, gently.

He looked at her steadily. "My parents were shot in front of my eyes when I was eight years old," he murmured. "We were leaving a movie. A movie that _I _made them see. If we hadn't gone out that night…they'd still be alive."

"But you can't blame yourself for that…" began Harley.

"I shouldn't," admitted Bruce. "But I do. You don't understand what it's like, to lose someone you love because of your actions. However slight those actions might play in their death, you still always feel some measure of responsibility. And it eats away at you. The people you'd do anything to protect, and you helped kill them. There's no way to get over that, Dr. Quinzel. You can't convince me that there is."

Harley nodded slowly. "No," she whispered, thinking of Jack. "Maybe there isn't."

Bruce stood up, pacing. "So I can't just think about it," he growled. "Or talk about it. I have to _do _something. Some action, any action, makes me feel a little bit better. It makes me feel like I have some control now. It's important to control the things you can. And I couldn't control my parents' death. I was utterly powerless. But now I have power – I have money and youth and strength…"

"And what you are going to do with that power?" asked Harley, gently.

He studied her. "I'm going to see to it that what happened to my parents doesn't happen to anyone else in this city," he murmured.

"How? By paying for more cops on the street? By joining the police force or justice system, like Harvey?" she asked. "Or in a less healthy, more self-destructive way?"

"You don't understand what it's like," he muttered. "All the anger, and shame, and guilt, and the need, the desperate need for vengeance…"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne, I do understand what that's like," interrupted Harley. "Believe me, I do. But the people we loved are dead. And there is nothing we can do to bring them back."

A knock came on Harley's door. "Sorry to bother you, Dr. Quinzel, but this is from Commissioner Gordon," said a police officer, entering and handing her a note. "He said it was urgent."

Harley opened it, and read it quickly. _We've finished our search of the Ace Chemicals ruin. No bodies have been found. Assuming Sal Valestra is alive. Also found trail of blood leading away from the scene, possibly from gunshot wound. Blood identified as Jack Napier's. Assuming he's alive too._

Harley stared at the message in shock, which instantly turned to relief, and she shrieked in joy. "I'm…sorry, Mr. Wayne," she gasped. "I've just received some…very good news."

She stood up. "Do you mind if we reschedule? I just…have to find him."

Bruce nodded. "You see, action, Dr. Quinzel," he murmured. "That's what matters. You act in whichever way seems best to you. And I'll do the same."

He shook hands with her. "It was nice to meet you, Dr. Quinzel. I hope we meet again someday."

"Me too, Mr. Wayne," agreed Harley. "Me too."


	11. Chapter 11

"Where you going, Sal?" murmured Jeannie Napier, as Sal Valestra climbed out of her bed and started pulling his clothes back on.

"Said I'd meet with the guys tonight," he replied. "This little break's been wonderful, Jeannie, but as long as most people think I'm dead, I'm gonna use that to my advantage. It's one of the many benefits that came from that little accident at Ace Chemicals. The best one being, of course, the death of your husband," he murmured, bending down to kiss her.

"Mmm, good riddance," she murmured, returning his kisses. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be taken by a real man."

"Well, that ain't gonna be a problem for you anymore, baby," he murmured, grinning. "You're all mine. Every piece of you," he whispered, kissing down her neck.

"Oh, Sal!" she gasped. "Don't get me all excited again when you gotta leave. That's just cruel."

He chuckled. "You like cruel, doncha, Jeannie?" he murmured, biting her bottom lip. "Jack never treated you the way you wanted. He could never bring out the wild animal in you. He was too nice. But with me, you're gonna get just the kinda treatment a bad girl like you deserves."

He spanked her playfully and then finished dressing, adjusting his tie in the mirror. "Don't be gone long," murmured Jeannie, climbing out of bed and draping herself over him. "I need my real, bad man to satisfy me as only he can."

They kissed tenderly, and then Sal headed out of the apartment. Jeannie returned to the bedroom, throwing on her robe and sitting down in front of her vanity table to fix her hair and reapply her makeup.

She suddenly heard a strange sound. A soft, low chuckle, that grew gradually louder and more hysterical. Jeannie froze in terror, looking around the room carefully. It was dark, and nothing moved in the shadows. There was no sound but that terrible laugh, increasing in volume and register. And then a flash of lightning illuminated a figure standing by the window. A figure with wild, staring eyes, and a horrible grin.

Jeannie screamed, seizing a bottle and smashing it, holding the broken glass in front of her. "What's the matter, Jeannie?" chuckled an amused voice. "Doncha recognize me?"

Jeannie did recognize the voice, her eyes widening in terror…but it couldn't be…

And then the figure was there in front of her, standing in the light from the lamp, fully illuminated. "Oh…my God!" gasped Jeannie. "Jack!"

The figure laughed, that terrible, insane laugh. "That's right, Jeannie," he murmured, leaning into the light so that it shone on his features. Jeannie flinched backward at the sight of him. His face was bone white, and his lips a bright shade of red, over gleaming white teeth, twisted into a horrible grin. His green eyes were bright and wild, matching his green hair. "Real clown now, ain't I, baby?" he laughed.

"Jack…Jack…what happened to you?" she gasped. "You fell into the acid…you were dead!"

He shook his head, chuckling madly. "No, I ain't, Jeannie!" he laughed. "I ain't! Ain't that a great joke? Ain't that a real…kick in the head!"

He giggled madly, still staring at her with those wild eyes and horrible grin. It was the most terrifying thing Jeannie had ever seen in her life, and she tightened her grip on the bottle.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Want?" he repeated, grinning. "Don't I have the right to come home to my wife, my loving wife, no doubt prostrate with grief over my death?"

He laughed louder. "God, ain't that a good joke, Jeannie?" he chuckled. "The thought of you being upset over my death! Tell me, did you take Sal home to our marriage bed the same day I disappeared, or did you wait a day out of respect for the dead?"

"I…don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.

"Oh, don't lie to me, baby," he murmured. "After fifteen years of marriage, I deserve the truth. I saw him with you just now, telling you how I was too nice a guy to you, how you wanted a really bad man. Is that really what you want, baby? You should have told me. I could have been a really bad man to you. And I still can be."

He approached her slowly, still smiling. "Don't you dare come near me!" snapped Jeannie, holding out the bottle. "Just stay away!"

He chuckled. "Baby, that's no way to talk to your husband!"

"You're not my husband!" she shrieked. "He's dead! I'm a free woman now, and no disgusting freak with a clown face is gonna lay a finger on me!"

He just smiled at her. "Oh, Jeannie," he sighed. "It's a real shame you cheated on me, y'know, when I never would have cheated on you in a hundred years. I think that's grounds for divorce, don't you?"

She snorted. "Divorce? I told you, my husband's dead! I don't have to divorce him! And even if you were him, you're not now. You're some deformed nutcase! Now get outta my house!"

He shrugged. "You don't wanna divorce? Ok. I guess there's another way for us both to be free of each other." He giggled. "You know, this is all really, really…funny!" He laughed hysterically, gasping for breath. "Oh, it is! So many times you called me a fool, and a clown, and a joker, and now I am, y'see, Jeannie! You were right about me! I don't take anything seriously, and I don't think I ever will again! The only thing I ever did take seriously was our joke of a marriage! And isn't that funny, Jeannie? That I took a joke seriously?! I guess…I guess they're the only things you should ever take seriously!"

He broke down in a fit of giggles. "It is funny, huh, baby?" he whispered, grinning at her. "Why aren't you laughing?"

"I said get out!" shrieked Jeannie, thrusting the broken bottle forward. He intercepted her arm suddenly, bending it behind her back and making her drop the bottle. His other hand gripped her around the throat. She struggled for breath, but he was too strong. She gasped, her panicked eyes staring into his grinning face.

"Jack!" she whispered. "Jack...please..."

"What's that, Jeannie?" he murmured, smiling at her as he choked the life out of her. "I can't hear you laughing!"'

And he laughed hysterically as he tightened his grip. At last, Jeannie stopped breathing. He lay her body down on the bed, smiling at the expression of terror frozen forever in her vacant eyes. "Till death do us part, baby," he whispered. "What a joke!"

And he left the room, giggling madly to himself.

…

Sal Valestra returned to Jeannie's apartment later that night. "Jeannie?" he said, knocking on the door. "It's Sal. Open up."

There was no response from within. Sal began to get nervous – he knocked louder and louder, and finally panicked, determined to break down the door, which he did at last.

"Jeannie!" he called, running from the living room into the bedroom. "Jean…"

He froze when he saw Jeannie Napier lying lifeless on the bed, ugly marks on her throat, and an expression of terror on her dead face. By her head was a note, and Sal picked this up, reading it in horror.

_Dear Sal,_

_ Jeannie was so choked up over my death that she didn't feel she could live anymore. And I guess her husband coming back from the dead was kinda a cruel joke to play on her, since she'd already moved on and all. But the joke's on you now, ain't it? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_

_ - J_.

"J," repeated Sal, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh my God. Jack's alive."


	12. Chapter 12

The phone rang, and Harley instantly picked it up. "Hello?"

"Dr. Quinzel? It's Commissioner Gordon. We've found something that…might be of interest to you. Can you come down to the station?"

"Yes…yes, of course, right away," stammered Harley, hanging up the phone and grabbing her bag. She headed outside where her police escort waited, and hopped into their waiting car, her stomach churning in nervousness as it drove her to the Gotham City Police Department. That had sounded like vaguely bad news. Harley had been searching for Jack ever since she had received the news that he was alive, and so had the police. Secretly, Harley hoped that she found him first, so she could hide him from the law, which would no doubt want him to atone for his crimes. But she certainly didn't mind the police sharing their information with her, as long as it wasn't bad news. And this had sounded like bad news. Maybe Jack was…hurt…or…dead…maybe the gunshot wound had become infected. Maybe they had found his body…

She shook her head, trying to remain calm. No need to get upset until she had something definite to be upset about.

She raced up the steps of the GCPD, throwing open the doors. "Dr. Harleen Quinzel to see Commissioner Gordon," she said to the guard on duty.

He nodded. "Right this way, Dr. Quinzel."

"What is it? What have you found?" she asked as she met Gordon in the entrance hall.

He said nothing, but led her toward the morgue, and Harley felt her heart seize up in fear. "Jack Napier's wife," he said, pushing open the door. "Jeannie Napier."

Harley froze in shock at seeing the dead body of the woman she had seen just the other day, in very different circumstances. "Is she familiar to you?" asked Gordon. "Can you positively identify her for us?"

"Yes," murmured Harley. "Yes, that's Jeannie Napier."

"A neighbor found her body this morning – we estimate she's been dead about three days."

Harley gazed at the body. "She was…strangled?" she asked, slowly.

Gordon nodded. "The fingerprints around her neck have been identified. Jack Napier's."

"Oh my God," whispered Harley, gazing at the body. "He…killed her."

"Looks that way," agreed Gordon. "To your knowledge, was he ever violent towards his wife before?"

Harley shook her head slowly. "He…loved her very much," she whispered. "Until the day he...disappeared."

Gordon sighed. "I was afraid of that. Some of our lab boys have analyzed the chemicals in that vat – there are traces of mercury compounds, among other things. We believe the exposure to these toxins may have interfered with his brain, and driven him insane."

"Insane?" repeated Harley.

"Well, strangling your wife isn't exactly the action of a sane person, now is it?" asked Gordon. "We think the toxins may have enhanced his homicidal tendencies into irresistible urges - he may potentially have transformed into a murdering psychopath. And I want you to be on your guard. I know you already have the police escort, but there's a chance he could come after you now."

"You mean…to kill me?" said Harley. "Jack wouldn't hurt me…"

"I don't know how I can make you understand this, but Jack Napier is dead, Dr. Quinzel," said Gordon, firmly. "This man, whatever he has become, is not that same man. He's an unpredictable monster, and he could potentially kill you. You don't know how his mind works anymore."

Harley nodded slowly. "Thank you for your concern, Commissioner. I'll be careful."

She returned with the escort to her apartment. The day drew on, and night fell. Harley sat in her living room, in front of the fireplace, reading a book, when she suddenly felt someone staring at her. And the feel of those eyes was familiar.

She shivered. "How did you get past the police?" she murmured, calmly.

"Came up from the basement," murmured his voice. "They didn't have the entrance to the cellar covered."

Harley nodded. "So much for Gotham's finest," she said, shutting her book and looking around for him. "Jeannie's dead."

"Yes," he replied, calmly.

"You killed her," she said.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked.

He was silent. "How can you ask me that?" he whispered, with genuine pain in his voice. "I love you, Harley."

"You loved her," she replied.

"I did," he agreed. "And she betrayed me. She took that love and threw it back in my face. You wouldn't do that to me, would you, Harley?"

His voice was desperate, almost pleading. "You wouldn't do that to me, no matter what I've become, would you?" he whispered.

"Where are you?" she asked, still looking carefully around the room.

"By the window," he replied.

"Come into the light from the fire," she said.

He paused. "No, Harley," he whispered. "You won't like what you see."

"I love you," she whispered, firmly. "No matter how you've changed, nothing will change that."

He was silent. "Let me see you," she whispered. "Please."

There was a rustle, and a figure emerged from the shadows by the window, heading over to stand by the fireplace. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered, lifting his face to her.

Harley stared back at the clown face calmly. Then she stood up, approaching him. She reached out with trembling hands and placed them on his face. His own hands shook as he raised them to touch hers, so gently caressing his flesh. He sobbed in relief at the look in her eyes, which was nothing but complete adoration.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, beaming at him. "So beautiful."

He sobbed again, and then enveloped her mouth in his own, clasping her face preciously in his hands. Harley began pulling off his suit – she reached for the buttons on his shirt, but he resisted, grabbing her hand. "It's…not just my face," he whispered.

She put her hand on his lips and unbuttoned his shirt with the other, revealing his bone white chest. She planted a kiss over his heart. "So beautiful," she repeated, in between kisses.

His own hands began working at her clothing, pulling her top off and pushing her onto the floor. "So are you," he whispered, enveloping her mouth again.

The light from the fire cast flickering shadows on the wall of their bodies locked together, both of them gasping and moaning in passion. When they were finished at last, they lay naked in each other's arms in front of the fire, letting the warmth and light caress them.

"They told me you'd gone crazy," whispered Harley at last, stroking his hair back. "But I knew that wasn't true."

He traced her lips with his fingertip. "I…_have _gone crazy, Harley," he whispered. "But I'm still so crazy about you that I think that madness overwhelms my…real madness. But I have…such strange thoughts. And sometimes I hear laughter everywhere, and I can't help myself from joining in. Everything just…seems so funny now. The world just seems like one big joke."

"Maybe it is," she murmured. "Maybe you ain't crazy. Maybe the world is."

He giggled. "Well, you're the shrink, you tell me!"

She studied him. "I don't think you're crazy," she whispered. "But maybe I'm crazy too. I do love you madly, y'know."

She snuggled into his arms as he tightened his embrace around her. "You told me once that if you were crazy enough for someone, they were worth everything. And I understand that now. The woman I was before I fell in love with you, the reasonable shrink Dr. Harleen Quinzel, would never have done this with a criminal, a man who murdered his own wife. She would have handed him over to the police without a second thought. And if I don't do that now, I'm your accomplice."

She kissed him tenderly. "But there's nothing I'd rather be now than your accomplice," she whispered. "I will sacrifice anything to protect you. And I'm going to keep you safe from them, puddin'."

"How you gonna do that with a police escort outside?" he asked, grinning.

"Well, you snuck in," she retorted. "We'll just sneak back out."

"Mmm, might be better to have a little fun instead," he said, giggling as he cuddled her.

"What kinda fun?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Just wait and see, pooh," he whispered, kissing her nose.

…

"I can't believe I'm missing the game for this," muttered Officer Jones, who was patrolling outside Harley's apartment with his partner, Officer Roberts. "Guard duty for some shrink…"

"Hey, you think you have it rough," interrupted Roberts. "Sarah's gonna kill me when I get home. I promised her I'd watch the kids tonight, but Gordon posted me out on this assignment last minute. She was not pleased when I called her to come home."

"Yeah, tough break," agreed Jones. "Between you and me, I think Gordon's overreacting. We don't even know for sure that Sal Valestra's alive, and even if he is, don't he have better things to do with his time than take revenge on some shrink? He's one of the biggest crime bosses in Gotham, for Christ's sake!"

"Ain't you heard?" asked Roberts. "It ain't Valestra that Gordon is really worried about. It's Napier."

"Who the hell is Napier?" asked Jones, puzzled.

"Some guy who used to work for Valestra," replied Roberts. "Fell into this vat of chemicals that drove him crazy, or so Gordon thinks. Anyway, Napier murdered his wife, and now Gordon thinks he's after this shrink."

"Why?" asked Jones.

Roberts shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he likes to kill pretty women. I mean, the shrink's hot, you gotta give her that."

"I guess," agreed Jones, shrugging. "I've seen hotter."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in, Mr. Bachelor," retorted Roberts. "You won't have anyone nagging you when you get home, either. You don't know how good you got it."

They suddenly heard a scream from inside the apartment. "Son of a bitch!" swore Roberts, reaching for his radio as he headed toward the door. "All units, inside! We have contact!"

The policemen raced inside the building. Harley's door was locked, but they forced it open, swarming inside the room.

It was empty. "There's nobody here…" began Jones, but he suddenly began coughing. And then his coughing turned into chortling, and then full-fledged, hysterical laughter. The other policemen joined in, falling to the ground and writhing in uncontrollable laughing fits.

And then they stopped moving, a hideous death-grin frozen forever on their faces. A single strain of laughter continued from a man standing outside, watching the scene through the window.

"Laugh and the world laughs with you, Harley girl!" he chuckled, kissing the forehead of the woman standing next to him.

"That's right, puddin'," she murmured, smiling at him. "That's right."


	13. Chapter 13

"Where is Dr. Quinzel?!" demanded Harvey Dent, furiously.

"We've been looking, Harvey, ever since she disappeared," snapped Gordon. "We believe Jack Napier might have kidnapped her…"

"So where's Jack Napier?" snapped Dent. "You don't understand how important it is that I continue my sessions with her, Jim!"

"Harvey, I'm sure you can find another shrink…" began Gordon.

"It's not that!" he interrupted. "I can't just start all over with another shrink – I'd have to completely restart my therapy! And Dr. Quinzel and I have made substantial progress…at least, I thought we had…I…"

He trailed off, rubbing his temples suddenly and shaking his head. "No," he whispered, under his breath. "No, no, go away!"

"Harvey? Are you all right?" asked Gordon, concerned.

"What? Uh…I'm…fine, Jim," he stammered, forcing a smile. "Just fine."

"Here, sit down," said Gordon. "I'll get you some water. Boy, the stress of the campaign must really be getting to you," he said, handing him a glass.

"Uh…yeah," gasped Dent, draining the glass in one gulp. "That's it, just the…stress of the campaign. Nothing more to worry about than that."

Gordon studied him carefully. "Is that what you were seeing the shrink for? Stress?"

"Yeah. Why?" snapped Dent.

Gordon shrugged. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look terrible. Maybe with Dr. Quinzel's absence, you should just take a break from the campaigning…"

"No, you idiot, don't you understand?" growled Dent, viciously. "If I stop campaigning, they win! The criminal scum win! I can't let that happen! I won't!"

He seized a chair, throwing it across the room. "Harvey, calm down!" exclaimed Gordon, shocked.

"Don't tell me to calm down, you incompetent twit!" roared Dent, his face twisted in fury. "Your useless men can't even keep track of one shrink! This is why crime runs rampant in this city, you moron! Because the police force are all a bunch of brainless idiots with no smarts and no sense! You should all be fired if you can't do your goddamn jobs! You should all be killed!"

He started toward Gordon with a murderous look in his eyes, and Gordon instinctively reached for the gun at his belt. And then Dent stepped backward, clutching his head. "No…" he gasped. "No, I won't let you win! I won't!"

"Harvey…what…" began Gordon, but Dent interrupted.

"Excuse me, Jim, I'm…sorry for what I said and did…I…I gotta go."

He fled from the office, out into his car. "Drive," he snapped at his chauffeur.

"Where to, sir?" asked the man.

"Anywhere, just drive!" shouted Dent, flinging himself into the backseat and curling up. There was a partition between the front and back of the car, so the driver couldn't see or hear Dent. He was all alone with himself.

"Harvey," whispered a deep, unpleasant voice. And he heard a rustling, spinning sound, like the flip of a coin. "Harvey," the voice repeated, more insistent.

"Go away," whispered Harvey, his voice more pleading than authoritative. "Please."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Harvey," murmured the voice. "You are. Very soon now, it'll be my time. And you'll be gone, you little wimp. Locked away forever, just like you've kept me all these years. I can't wait for you to know how it feels."

The voice laughed, a low, cruel chuckle, and he heard the flip of the coin again. "Please just…leave me alone," stammered Harvey, curling up further. "I never wanted to hurt you…I dunno why you wanna hurt me…"

"Because you've kept me locked up, you pathetic wuss!" hissed Harv. "You've never had the guts to do what you always should have done – you acted and pretended to fit in with all those gutless, hypocritical types you had to schmooze with to get to be DA. But you always wanted to hurt them all, deep down. They disgusted you, saying they cared about this city, but just wanting to party and go home to their mansions at the end of the night. They didn't want to fight for this city's good, not really, not like you – they were scared of the fight. You were never scared. You always wanted power and respect. And you know how you get that? Through fear. By beating 'em all down until they don't dare look you in the eye. That's how you keep people under control, and that's how you keep Gotham under control. That's how you tried to keep me under control, but I'm stronger than you, Harvey. And in the end, you're gonna lose this fight."

Harvey forced his eyes open, knocking on the glass partition. "Sir?" asked the chauffeur.

"Can…can you drive me to Wayne Manor?" stammered Dent. "I…need to talk to Bruce."

"What do you think your rich little friend is gonna do, Harvey?" growled the voice in his head. "He's as bad as the rest of them."

"He's not!" hissed Harvey. "He's different! He understand that something needs to be done, and he fights…"

"How does he fight?" growled Harv. "He's just as useless and gutless as you are, Harvey. Time to step aside and let a real man take control now, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm not listening to you!" hissed Harvey. "I'm not! I won't let you beat me!"

Alfred opened the door to frantic knocking. "Hi, Alfred, is Bruce here?" gasped Harvey Dent. He was leaning against the doorframe, looking pale and ill.

"Good Lord, Mr. Dent, what's happened to you?" exclaimed Alfred, his normally imperturbable face shocked into concern. "Here, come inside and sit down. I'll fetch Master Bruce right away."

"Harvey, what is it?" asked Bruce Wayne, rushing to greet his friend in the library. "Are you ok? You look terrible!"

"Bruce, you've got to help me!" gasped Dent. "I can't fight him much longer!"

"Who?" asked Bruce, concerned. "Who's trying to hurt you, Harvey?"

He gazed at him. "I am," he whispered. "There's…something wrong…inside me. He's…he's trying to destroy me. I was seeing a shrink, but she disappeared, and now…now he's stronger than ever. He's gonna kill me, Bruce! You have to save me!"

"How?" asked Bruce, desperately. "How can I fight something inside you, Harvey?"

He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I…I dunno," he gasped. "Just promise me that whatever happens…you won't give up on me, Bruce. I'll always be Harvey…somewhere. Even if I don't act like him…you have to try to save him, Bruce. Please. I…I don't wanna die a monster."

"A monster?" repeated Bruce. "Harvey, what are you talking about?"

"Just…you have to stop him! You have to save me! I can feel him…everywhere! No, just…go away!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and racing out the door.

"Harvey!" shouted Bruce, racing after him. Dent burst out the front door, running as far away from Wayne Manor as he could get. He had to get away from people – he had to be alone. He didn't know what this personality would do to other people if it suddenly took over. And he could feel it taking over - he could feel himself slowly being sucked under and drowned.

Wayne Manor was surrounded by acres of parkland, and Dent fled into the woods, trying to lose himself in the wilderness. When he had run out of energy, he collapsed onto the grass by a stream, panting and gasping for air. He raised himself to his knees at last, crawling over to the stream. And a horrible, unfamiliar face stared back at him.

"Hello, Harvey," it whispered, grinning without lips.

Dent fell back, shouting in terror, and was suddenly struck on the back of the head. He fell to the ground, looking up into the face of a different man, but one equally as horrible. "Hello, Harvey," murmured Sal Valestra. "It's time we had ourselves a little chat."


	14. Chapter 14

"Mmm, puddin'?" murmured Harley, opening her eyes. She had rolled over in bed to find it empty, and now looked up to see the man she loved slowly getting dressed.

"Go back to sleep, Harley," he murmured.

"What time is it?" she asked, looking around for a clock.

"Past your bedtime," he replied, smiling.

"Then it's past yours too," she retorted, grinning. "Where are you going?"

He was silent. "There's something I need to do," he replied, softly.

"Something you can't share with me?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly. "It's too dangerous for you, Harley."

"If it's dangerous, you could use my help," she replied, turning on the lamp and reaching for her clothes.

"No, Harley, I don't want you coming with me," he said, firmly.

"Jack, I can handle it…" she began, but she was suddenly knocked back on the bed, one of his hands clapped over her mouth, and the other tightening around her throat.

"Not that name!" he hissed. "Never that name, Harley! I am not Jack Napier anymore! That man died! And he should be utterly forgotten! Everything about him and his life should be forgotten, do you understand me?!"

"Yes…puddin'!" she gasped, unable to breathe. He released her throat suddenly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her gently. "I'm so sorry, Harley, I…I just don't want to remember…what my life used to be like. I don't want to remember any life before I became…this. Before I had you."

"I guess that's…kinda romantic," whispered Harley, massaging her throat. "So what should I call you, Ja…J…Mr. J?" she invented quickly.

He grinned. "_You _can call me that," he murmured, kissing her again. "But I gotta come up with a better moniker for general use. Something with a real ring to it."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging. "Nothing springs to mind. Clownman or something, but not as lame," he said, facing the mirror and studying his smiling face.

"The Man Who Laughs?" suggested Harley.

He shook his head. "Too long. Something snappy and simple, with a real zing to it."

"Geez, you ain't picky, are ya, puddin'?" she asked, grinning.

"Well, imagine you got to change your name," he retorted. "Imagine you got to start your identity all over. You'd wanna pick something good, huh?"

"I kinda am starting my identity all over," said Harley, putting her arms around his neck. "I ain't ever working as a shrink again. I ain't leaving you. So I'm starting over again as your partner."

"Yeah? You want a new name too?" he asked, smiling at her.

"If you can think up a good one," she replied, kissing his nose.

"Hmm, lemme think," he said, sitting down on the bed and pulling her onto his lap. "It has to be something I can use in public, I guess. So no naughty little sex fiend. Or dirty little minx. Or thirsty little…"

"No, puddin', none of those," she interrupted.

"Harley," he repeated thoughtfully, stroking her face. "Harley, Harley, Harley. My little Harley Kitten, my little Harley Pie, my little Harley Quinz…"

He trailed off suddenly. "Harley Quinn," he repeated. "My little Harley Quinn. You like that one, huh, sweets?"

"Harley Quinn?" she repeated. "Like the clown?"

"Just like the clown, pooh bear," he whispered. "My little clown girl. My little Harley Quinn."

"So should I dress up like a clown like you?" she asked.

"If you wanna," he replied, nodding. "If you wanna show the whole world who you belong to, and who your Daddy is," he murmured, kissing her.

"Mmm, come back to bed with me, puddin'," she purred, trying to pull him down on top of her.

"No, I'm doing this tonight," he said firmly, gently pushing himself away.

"What is it?" she asked. "Tell me, puddin', please."

He looked at her. "I'm going to kill Sal Valestra," he murmured.

She stared back at him. "Why?" she asked.

"Why?" he repeated. "For the fun of it, of course! Why do I do anything?" he chuckled.

"But why him?" she asked. "We're free of him, puddin' – we can forget all about him and what he did to us…"

"I will never forget about him," he interrupted. "Not until he's dead. While he's alive, he'll live with the knowledge of what he did to me. And I can't let him do that, Harley. I can't let him continue to live knowing that he hurt me, and he hurt you…"

"What does it matter, puddin'?" she asked. "I'm with you now, and we're happy together, aren't we?"

He smiled. "No one on earth is happier than we are, kiddo," he murmured, stroking her hair back. "And no one ever will be. We'll be happy all the time, forever. But y'see, Sal knows about Jack Napier. He knows that Jack Napier didn't die in that accident. He knows that Jack Napier murdered his wife. And he's bound to recognize me sooner or later, and I can't have him spreading it around that's who I used to be. I want Jack Napier dead, Harley. And to kill him, I gotta kill Sal Valestra."

Harley nodded slowly. "Why…do you hate your former life so much?" she asked, gently. "It can't just be because of me."

He shrugged. "Jack Napier was a pathetic guy. Even his wife thought so. He was a joke. I'm…not going to be a joke anymore, Harley. Oh, I'm going to tell jokes, and play jokes on other people, but I don't think anybody is gonna laugh at me anymore. At least, not of their own free will," he chuckled.

"I…loved Jack Napier," murmured Harley. "I still do."

He shook his head. "You love _me_, doncha, pumpkin?" he murmured. "Whatever I've become."

"Yes, puddin'," she whispered. "But...I know Jack…and if you're not Jack…how do I know you?"

"You don't," he murmured, grinning. "But you love me, right, sweets?"

She nodded. "That's all you need to know, then," he murmured, kissing her again.

"But…who are you? If you're not Jack Napier," she asked, quietly.

He shrugged again. "Guess we're gonna have to find out together," he murmured, kissing her.

"So let me come with you tonight," she said. "Please, Mr. J. I wanna watch you kill Sal. I wanna see the fear in his eyes he was so happy to see in mine."

He giggled. "You're just as bloodthirsty as me, my little Harley Quinn!" he laughed. "I've always said revenge is good for the soul. Sure, I guess you can come, as long as you promise to be careful," he said, turning back to the mirror and finishing dressing. "Don't know what I'd do without my Harley Quinn to put a smile on my face!"

She grinned, hurrying to dress herself. "You do love me, huh, puddin'?" she asked.

He turned to look at her. "Why would you ask me that?" he said, puzzled.

She shrugged. "Just…y'know…you don't really seem sure of who you are, and you keep telling me you've gone crazy and changed and…and so I wanted to make sure you still feel the same way about me."

He studied her carefully. "Do you know what it's like to be mad, Harley?" he murmured.

She shook her head slowly. "I…I don't know if that's even a valid term for…" she began.

"No, no, no, stop with the shrink speak and listen to me," he said, clapping a hand over her mouth suddenly. "You don't know what it's like to be crazy. To see the world…through the eyes of madness. It's such a bright, special place, and always fun. Like riding a never-ending roller coaster ride. That's life to me now. I don't have any problems anymore – I'm never unhappy anymore. Everything is just fun, even the problems, and especially the violence!" he chuckled. "But there are things you have to depend on to enjoy a roller coaster ride. You have to depend on the car not breaking and sending you hurtling to your death. You have to depend on your fellow passengers not shoving you outta the car. You have to believe that the ride's gonna keep working. So in that way, I guess even fun can be scary. But I ain't scared, Harley. I don't care about any of those things. This ride can stop at any time – I've had my fun! And I'm gonna keep having my fun for as long as I can. I'm gonna stay on that ride."

He kissed her tenderly. "And if you're brave enough to climb into that car with me, to stay on that ride with me, no matter how much it loops or how scary it is or how far up and down we go, if you really love me that much…then you're the most precious woman in the world."

He kissed her again, and then pinched her nose, causing her to squeak in pain. "And so you see why asking if I love you is such a stupid question, don't you? You're a silly girl, Harley Quinn," he chuckled.

Harley nodded, smiling and kissing him. She honestly wasn't sure if he had answered her question, but she believed he did love her, and that was all that mattered.

He finished tying his bowtie, picked up his gun, and turned to face her. "You ready to go pull the joke of the century on old Sal?" he chuckled, grinning at her.

She grinned back. "Yeah, puddin'," she said, taking his hand. "Let's go spread some smiles."


	15. Chapter 15

"Sir, I really can't see what you're hoping to accomplish," said Alfred, studying Bruce Wayne with a quizzical raised eyebrow. "The police are doing all they can to find Mr. Dent…"

"And it's not enough," interrupted Bruce, firmly, as he dressed.

"And so you believe dressing in a costume is somehow going to improve the situation?" asked Alfred.

Bruce glared at him. "I'm not dressing like this for no reason," he muttered. "I'm going out there to find him."

"Dressed like that, sir?" repeated Alfred. "People are going to assume you're off to a party, or that you've forgotten when Halloween is."

"You don't think it'll strike fear into the hearts of the wicked?" asked Bruce, pulling on his cape.

"Not unless the wicked are five years old, sir," retorted Alfred.

"It's the best I can do on short notice," retorted Bruce, angrily. "I can't just sit around and wait for nothing to happen, Alfred. I have to do something to help find Harvey."

"Sir, I share your concern for Mr. Dent, but I certainly don't see what good this is going to do…" began Alfred.

Bruce reached into his makeshift utility belt, and held up a cigarette butt. "I found Harvey's trail into the grounds – it wasn't hard to follow. There were two sets of footprints leading away from there. And I found this in one of them. Harvey doesn't smoke these cigarettes. They're a very rich brand manufactured specially for Salvatore Valestra."

"The gangster?" said Alfred, raising his eyebrows further. "What can he want with Mr. Dent?"

"Nothing good, that's for certain," snapped Bruce, replacing the cigarette in his belt. "Which is why I have to find him before he gets hurt. I only hope I'm not too late."

"Have you informed the police that you believe Mr. Valestra is involved, sir?" asked Alfred.

"Yes. They told me they'd look into it," growled Bruce. "But I can't wait for them to act anymore, Alfred. I have to do something."

He pulled on his mask, shaped like a bat. "Good Lord, sir, you don't think this sort of action is a little…extreme?" asked Alfred. "A masked vigilante…"

"Sometimes you have to be extreme to get results," retorted Bruce. "And desperate times call for desperate measures. And this is a very desperate time for my best friend. I'm not failing him the way I failed my parents. I'm not going to let him die."

"Sir, what happened to your parents was not your fault…" began Alfred.

"But this will be," interrupted Bruce. "Harvey came to me for help. And he was kidnapped on my property. If anything happens to him, I will never forgive myself."

"No. But I sincerely wish you could, sir," murmured Alfred. "I wish you could forgive yourself for everything."

Bruce turned to go. "The mask is very good, sir," said Alfred, quietly. "I apologize for doubting you. It is an impressive outfit."

"It'll have to do," admitted Bruce. "Until I can make something better."

"Better, sir?" repeated Alfred. "You mean you intend to go out more than once in that costume?"

"I intend to do whatever it takes, Alfred," retorted Bruce. "To keep the people of Gotham safe. I won't let them down again."

Alfred grabbed his arm. "Master Bruce…I understand your concern for your friend, truly," he murmured. "But don't let that concern turn into an obsession. You are but one man, sir. You cannot save the world."

"Of course not, Alfred," murmured Bruce. "I couldn't even save my parents. And I probably can't save Harvey, but I'm going to die trying."

He pulled his arm away. "I may be back late," he said, climbing into one of his cars he had repainted black. "Don't wait up."

"Very good, sir," murmured Alfred, watching Bruce drive off.

…

Bruce Wayne adjusted his mask, and then carefully crept through the rafters of the chemical factory. Below in the office, he could see Sal Valestra standing in front of Harvey Dent and smoking a cigarette. He was flanked by two henchmen. Dent looked battered and bloody, and his hands were cuffed behind his back, but was clearly still keeping up the fight.

"It's the last time I'm gonna ask nicely, Harvey," murmured Sal. "Just outside we got several vats of acid, and I'm gonna dump your body into one unless you cooperate with me."

"Go to hell!" spat Dent, in a voice that somehow sounded different from his own. "I'm never helping scum like you!"

"Harvey, this isn't just about your career – it's about your life," growled Sal, leaning in threateningly. "You make a deal with me now to lay off my business interests, or you're going in that acid. And the last guy who went into the acid didn't come back to tell the tale."

"Oh, you're wrong about that, Sal," chuckled a voice from the shadows. "So very wrong about that."

Bruce turned to see a man and a woman standing in the doorway below him. The man was striking – he had a pale, exceptionally pale face, completely white except for his bright red lips and glowing green eyes. And the woman was familiar – Bruce had definitely seen her somewhere before, but he couldn't think where…

Sal Valestra didn't seem particularly concerned, since the two men standing next to him immediately raised their guns. "Who the hell is this joker?" demanded Sal, puffing on his cigarette.

The man laughed hysterically, stepping forward into the light, and Sal's cigarette suddenly fell from his lips as his face turned even paler than the man's. "Joker," repeated the man, grinning. "I like it! I really do! Aw, Sal, you're a genius! Here I am searching for a good name to use, and you come up with it just like that!" he giggled, snapping his fingers. "Yes, no wonder Jeannie found you so irresistible."

"J…Jack," gasped Sal. "Jack, how did you…my God, what happened to you?"

The man shook his head. "Not Jack, Sal," he whispered. "Not anymore. It's the Joker."

"Buzz, Chuckie…" began Sal, but before they could react, the woman pulled out a gun, shooting them both quickly.

"And Harley Quinn," she said, lightly, blowing the smoke away from the top of the gun and handing it to the Joker.

"It's…it's you!" stammered Sal. "Dr…Quinzel…"

The Joker chuckled again, aiming the gun at Sal. "No, you heard the little lady, Sal. It's Harley Quinn now," he murmured.

Dent suddenly leapt to his feet, throwing his handcuffs around Sal's neck and pulling him back. "Don't you dare shoot him, you freak!" he growled, tightening his grip on Sal's throat. "He's mine!"

"Oooh, I hate to contradict you, Bipolar Boy, but he's mine!" chuckled the Joker, raising his gun again. "But I don't object to shooting both of you if you ask for it!"

"Over my dead body!" growled Dent.

"If you insist," replied the Joker, an unstable glint in his eye as he aimed the gun, grinning.

"Harvey, no!" shouted Bruce, leaping down from the rafters and shoving Dent and Sal to the ground just as the Joker fired. The bullet sailed overhead, and Bruce jumped up to face the Joker. But he didn't shoot again. He just stared at him.

And then began laughing hysterically. "What the hell are you wearing?" he giggled. "Is that a bat costume? Why…why…" He broke down into uncontrollable fits of laughter. "Why on earth…are you here…wearing that?!" he gasped.

"I'm…Batman," stammered Bruce, which was the first name that had popped into his head. "Anyway, why are you wearing a clown costume?"

"You think this is…a costume?" chuckled the Joker, smiling at him. "You really must be blind as a bat, huh? Is that where the name comes from? Harley, I'm not…not imagining this, am I?" he giggled, turning to the woman. "There's actually some…guy in a bat costume butting his pointy nose into my business?"

"There sure is, puddin'," replied Harley, reaching for her other gun. "You want me to terminate the freak?"

"No, pooh, I don't," he said, seizing the gun from her. "I wanna know what he's doing here, and why…he's dressed like that. I mean, do you just wander around buildings hanging from the rafters and waiting to save people? Why would you do that? It just doesn't make any sense, I don't understand…"

He trailed off, and his huge smile got even bigger as his eyes shone at Bruce. "Are you…crazy too?" he whispered, hopefully.

Bruce didn't get a chance to respond. Dent suddenly punched him in the back of the head, knocking him to the ground, and then dragged Sal to the doorway. "Stay away, all of you!" he roared. "Valestra is mine!

"I think he may be crazy too!" giggled the Joker, rushing to the doorway after him and watching Dent drag Sal along the platform. "Or heading that way. Better save him the trip – it's a long way down, huh, buddy?" he asked Bruce, aiming the gun at Dent.

Bruce punched the Joker as he fired the gun, causing the bullet to ricochet off the platform and into a control panel, which suddenly exploded, sending two wires sparking into the air. They fell into the vat beneath, sending its contents of boiling acid shooting upward, consuming Sal's entire body and half of Dent's

Dent fell to the ground with a shriek, clutching his face in his hands as the remains of Sal's body disappeared into the acid without a trace. "Harvey!" shouted Bruce, rushing forward to see to his friend.

The office door was suddenly kicked open, and a group of policemen raced into the room, pointing their guns at the Joker and Harley. "Freeze!" shouted Commissioner Gordon, and then started when he saw Harley. "Dr. Quinzel?" he said, stunned.

She shook her head slowly, coming over to stand next to the Joker and putting her arms around him. "It's Harley Quinn," she murmured, kissing the Joker's cheek. "The Joker's Harley Quinn."

"What…" began Gordon, but he suddenly noticed Dent collapsed on the platform, having fainted from the pain. "Oh my God…" he gasped, racing toward him, but stopped when he saw the man in the bat costume bent over him.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Gordon. "What are you doing here? What the hell's going on?"

Bruce ignored him. "I'm so sorry, Harvey," he whispered, staring at his unconscious friend's deformed face. "I was too late. But I will save you, my friend. I promise."

"Get up," said Gordon, aiming his gun at him. "You're all coming down to the station."

Bruce raised his masked face to him. "I am vengeance," he whispered. "I am the night. I am Batman."

Gordon coughed suddenly as a cloud of smoke appeared from nowhere, enveloping Bruce. When the smoke cleared, he had disappeared.

"Find him!" roared Gordon. "You two, help me with Dent. And get them outta here," he said, nodding at Joker and Harley.

The policemen dragged Joker and Harley off to the waiting van, the Joker still chuckling madly. "What's so funny, puddin'?" asked Harley.

"What's so funny?" he repeated, grinning. "Didn't you see him?"

"See who?" she asked.

"Batman, of course!" he giggled. "God, the guy's gotta be totally nuts! Crazy thing to do, utterly crazy! Oooh, I can't wait to see him again, pumpkin!" he chuckled, gazing out of the window and beaming. "Oh, what a night, Harley girl! I've got a great feeling about this! Don't you understand? I'm not alone in my insanity anymore!"

"You weren't ever alone, Mr. J," said Harley, slightly offended. "You have me."

He giggled, kissing her nose. "Of course I have you, pooh," he murmured. "But I also have a new playmate now. One who's just as nuts as me!"

He chuckled, putting his arm around her while his eyes remained focused on the black figure flitting across the shadow of the moon. "Harley," he murmured. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

**The End**


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